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

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
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.