Michael Prihoda

clouds

the binoculars
have gleaming
worlds.

the florid
answer promised
a loyal syndrome.

this is secret.
that’s all.
blank permission.

“aren’t they birds?”
“last time,
clouds.”

 

opening remark

blow a ritual
of some document.
today, a restraint
in discipline.

what’s prepared
to remain
in context
of language?

he executed
change in
facial
indentation

like an old,
mute version
of the opening
remark.

 

fist

this modest
program

of ice
following

the dead.
effort was

chaos, levitation
of voices

choking in shapes
of wrist,

the configuration
of pressure.

adjust into
a fist.

 

the rifle

the rifle
did not know the details.

what
was unbearable?

the rifle
recalled the anatomy of barrel, muzzle, blast.

the force
of death on the arc of a brave disease.

 

interference

history wants
to eat the armchair

the memory was
drifting smoke

God used to be
serious work

shallow beliefs
out of panic

because the world
is spreading,

no liberating or
casting out the innocent

strike this power
that interferes,

occupies
the carpet.

 

 

BIO

Michael Prihoda lives in central Indiana. He is the editor of After the Pause, an experimental literary magazine and small press. His work has received nominations for the Pushcart Prize and the Best of the Net Anthology. He is the author of eight poetry collections, most recently Years Without Room (Weasel Press, 2018).

 

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