Two Poems by Kirsten Kaschock


poppy field

At the torn
edge between red and
orange, threat and rage, we seeded
a meadow of 4F hesitation—
the fight/flight/fuck/feed
confusion. Its accompanying adrenalin
a blight, tympanic thrum in the temple, base
from the club, and you tripping your face off
in a stall like a womb. This is no womb color.
is out there—bet, but follow no neon. The exit
into alleywell’s a deepfake, a vertical horizon
where the fallen go to go on dreaming
they’re dancing.
Any slope so atmospheric
is the steep, its costs uncoiling in venom
ladder, in on-fire escape. And the roof?
Bosch and bollocks. We colored

it. Hell.



Having sent out several grainy photos
of shab-chic chandelier we asked
a dozen prudently-curated iconoclasts
to contribute fresh takes on snow.
In this, what
we call our *in*-hibition
the oldnewwing boasts cocaine &zinnias
enough for an aristocrat. Here—
an outsider taxidermist has spoofed
an entire room in Arctic pelt
: so, cozy.
Chalkdust and pulverized bone
show us—the dead are powder, also
they’ve been erased.
Fractals cut
from onionskin offer Victorian-era insights
which, while failing to reproduce
on a macroscale, still cause striking
before all things retrofitted shift prismatic—
or spring comes, depending on your use
for it—and the edges of
the hoar, the hoar (this frickn
winterlust) curl in like talon.


About the Author

Kirsten Kaschock is the author of five poetry books: Unfathoms (Slope Editions), A Beautiful Name for a Girl (Ahsahta Press), The Dottery (University of Pittsburgh Press), Confessional Science-fiction: A Primer (Subito Press) and Explain This Corpse (winner of Blue Lynx Prize from Lynx House Press). Coffee House Press published her debut speculative novel—Sleight. Recent work can be read at Conduit, The Diagram and Los Angeles Review. 

Post Image

Detail from Laura Vinck: Orange Smoke on Blue, 2017 (Unsplash).

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