Poetry by Kelli Russell Agodon
It’s too much white space and not enough hot sauce on the popcorn.
It’s too much white space and not enough hot sauce on the popcorn.
Touching, letting go, returning to touch: we love with the persistence of flies!
They found the snake sleeping and lidless, the shape of a humped woman halfway down its length.
Wood smoke is pervasive and copies my paved serpent, creating barriers among brothers.
As if you had claimed your voice before it was silenced.
With just the right amount of useless junk, loneliness is bearable.
What had started as an attempt at witty improv had grown strange, weird and oddly gregarious.
The first days after you died sunk like stones.
Always someone somewhere whose wall-kicking must be stopped.
I don’t know how the world ends, but I know fire lies.