Kristy Odelius


And when the reds arrive moving as if toward a name
Or a distant cabana, zero in on a shelter
As a generation glides with ignorance and grace

Cloud-crack around twist to a peak

lie in the sand alone

Blood vessels stretched to shade
Tuning what the sky slips on over itself
A cask spilled out, colorific-in-Time

There is no consummation

Waves slap shore wet and wet and wet
There is no consumption, only being
consumed, an imbroglio imbued with reds
We stroke without contact our delicate imbalance
Panama Red, red letter, red meat or stumble upon

Redivivus come back
Come back to life

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