Lawn One: Chanteuse

By Aydin Eliason

I have spent several years living inside a medical 
journal, a dictionary describing the ways in which 
we might sing above the pears to contented hearts,
making a game of lambs and lycanthropic tremors 
from picking up tracks of the woodpile.

The sky is an apron, the broth breaking the dam at
sea-level, the car with all the cursing kicking
up dust one two nightclub singer three four 
alligator eye, hang gliding in the Mediterranean
never seemed so serene.

Bobby cat picket exchanging words
’nuff said with the floatable 
cape wand 
well-practiced and timed,
the measuring excellently placing 
what is 
for all intents and purposes,
a divide.