Amanda Papenfus

Vanilla Pheromones
 
Substitute reason for instinct;
choke the angry bull’s red raging
then quick, shoot for blue,
as if hue diminishes the danger
of a false asylum.
 
If only one color’s your world
let it not be yellow poison—
not be profuse
in vein proportion,
crystal with the augur
of regrettable collapse.
 
 
 

 
Smoke Signals
 
Play back the scene
back to you, eye to you
then one and a half
then full on, unblinking
gape in the gap between darkness,
toxic umber of light, just a sliver.
 
Who who? You should know
the smoke your warning,
not their breath, or was it
his, so hard to say in the darkness
he can’t say though you urge
after he collapses into the green
grass turning black, shadows
converging on disappearing toes.
 
You bend to give a hand, his
in a pocket, a glimmer of the edge,
you run, arms out as if you can feel
the way; you’ve lost yours
don’t feel the stump
it’s caught you now
and you tumble down, down
down into the sooty forest
who’s echoing around you—
it’s only those eyes, those eyes.
 

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Psychic Meatloaf Poetry Journal