At the Gravesite
leave a basket
of pallid Awayuki
my pet coquecigrue
had not been the same
so I buried them alive
unlike the westerns
there’s no bell
you can ring to say
what a huge
misunderstanding
I wait beside the grave
for a consequential epiphany
still I hear coquecigrue
whimpering Thank you
for the strawberries
raised carefully
for their perfume and
sweetness the color of
their skin
a light snow
Clown Car
I built a soft machine
with twelve different functions
Pedicures for instance
Two cup holders
I want it to name a star after you
It only tells the time
you'll kiss someone last
Last night I dreamt I hated you
From my ear I was fishing
a years-long strand
of Spanish moss I felt them nestling
A detached eyelash you feel beneath
yourself You rub the scales away
let two more take their place I tried
burning your red threads Instead
they are hardening Polychrome
vest a half size too small
Please – let me be
miniature already
Brand-New
eikon of
love songs
or an illegitimate clown
never passing any authentic tests
Squeezed into a pony
-sized automobile
are around twelve dozen of me
off to deliver our talents
at your last birthday party
The car is cyan
We all have different noses
About the Author
John B. Oldenborg (he / him) currently attends the University of Nevada Las Vegas where he is earning an MFA in poetry. His work appears in Red Ogre Review, LandLocked, The Roadrunner Review, HASH, Heavy Feather Review, Yalobusha Review, The Hunger, and elsewhere. He is scared of the screaming guy from the band Death Grips. Find him on Twitter @LMFAOldenborg.