FEATURED STUDENT WORK

wait, moon, little   ||   Mike

Venus is an old streetlamp
That I keep forgetting
To turn off. If I’m not careful
It might burn down a forest.

My slow breathing
Keeps the wisps
Of grey/black cloud
Frustrated.

Matchsticks,
Quietly struck and glowing,
Graze my skin. I would reach out
And hold my inexperienced fingers
Over them, but my hands
Are never steady.

The moon won’t stop
Moving, I tug at it,
Saying, wait_

And it listens, for a little while

 

June   ||   Casey   ||    analysis

Seven hours of sweat leather and bullshit
Fucking horse just wants to go home
So do I, it might, I doubt it but it might
The slicker is there if it does
Not like it will be used its so welcome.

Maybe two or three over two weeks
Two more to live in brevity
The Catclaw will like it to damn it
And the hunters, feeling like they know
Cianothis puff cotton when the Manzanita burn.

There she goes, that bitch always runs
She makes the others stiff necks scent
Panic and guile maneuver in thickets
Two more hours and another shirt,
Sell her she's dry and nothing but shit

He said only to Airmill, then just to Yarbor
Back at three the suns at four knuckles
The water dried at Antelope, my hands bleed it same
Through my shirt, the cinch loosened salt stencils
She's lined by the day by the rein
The rain lines the skyline but always east

Crossing the Aqua Fria the cottonwoods murmur it may come
Its June it won't come till the kachinas of fireworks
Welcome it. The only thing that makes it work
Sweat tries but not till those tears fall cool on us
And soaks in deep never like before those tears are useless
But when the aqua fria passions and the cottonwoods answer we are home.