by Nicole Zdeb

Just escaped the cosmic dustbin,

March’s swirling floodwaters, and

you’re a master of beginnings,

the bright idea, strong coffee.

You hit your head more than once

against the deliberate consideration

of others. You like to fall in love.

You like to fall.

You build landings for the sky.

Subject to high fevers,

clairvoyance and weird dreams.

You want seven

women on seven seas

to bear your silvery seed.

You speak in puffs of smoke,

your mouth a popular sculpture.

A more desperate man would reach for his hat.

You look like you’re swallowing clouds.

____________________________________________________________________________________________________

Nicole Zdeb is a writer living in Portland, OR. She holds an MFA in Creative Writing from Iowa Writers' Workshop. In 2011, Bedouin Press published her chapbook, The Friction of Distance. Most recently, she has had work published in Rue, Magma, and Lily Poetry.