Karen Dellinger
Express
Speed through my standstill landlocked reading of reaching
lurching horizons. Tracks
just vanish under the unbearable weight of ways to go
about writing and crumple with too many centuries of
sense of urgency I can’t keep up with. (awk)
(wants onomatopoeia, am appetite aware)
Just as I miss my stop fearing
my window
for becoming someone whose art comes on the go is out of
sight (source?)
(mind the gap, impostors will be constructively assisted)
(“train” was too obvious, the most doable double entendres desert you in your era of
need)
a girl across the aisle crochets
sewing no gardens carried in clichéd pockets. (transparent device! or TARDIS pockets?)
From
her hands
flowers
worth of a thousand
words. (I’ve got a blank space baby!)
So poet just means “maker”— (this is where I see myself out)
I hardly know her.
Karen Dellinger is a productive procrastinator currently wrangling a PhD degree in English Studies at Durham University, UK. Every night (regardless of which shape the moon gives or takes) the Taiwanese in her rears its head and yearns for the kaleidoscopic flânerie afforded to those fortunate enough to inhabit Taipei. In her free time she enjoys soliciting attention from cats, bombarding Instagram followers with rambling stream of consciousness stories, and springing horror film recommendations on unsuspecting friends. Her poetry has previously found a home (after forceful eviction from the drafts folder) in Runestone Literary Journal.
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