A Poetry Sporadical of Repeating Forms
Yes, fist was cocked at you, but we cropped the image.
You won’t see the blood as we’ve photo-shopped the image.
Proof! At least once we were both smiling at the same time.
Magic button and flash: the click which stopped the image.
Art is food for the soul, so we made the loveliest
portrait of our rations and then airdropped the image.
Dino Veritas says, Ceci n’est pas une crackpipe.
Who among us has never malapropped the image?
Although it was neither, your description of me felt
like a tender mercy after I swapped the image.
He was the spitting image of his old man until,
with a razorblade, he adroitly popped the image.
I remember how you filled notebooks with scrawled, split hearts.
Your heart’s split town, but I’ve tried to co-opt the image.
A field full of still, silent crows: a crow funeral.
But can we be sure we’ve scrubbed and Aesopped the image?
Holly, you’re torturous and anachronistic.
You’re form poetry. Only satisfied once you’ve end-stopped the image.
Holly Jensen ’s credits include PANK, The Ghazal Page, and Folio.