The Silence The Thicket The Sniffing

Frank Stanford

Just like that
is what she meant
when she shook her head
and snapped her thick fingers
at the same time
They call it murder some places
She held onto the brush
picking out kinks of hair
like she was daydreaming of them
The foot
of an infant who is sleeping
My dick when it's hanging
And the lip of a mare
All like snow
no one expected
Tomorrow
a whole field of it can
be there and gone
before you know it

Ginny Stanford