Olivia Kennett was recently published at UnlikelyStories.org -- see it here.

Knives fall from the air and ( Read more... )

Blueberry, violet, and ivory ( Read more... )

moth, the scales
And the suns keep. Wound up
it is supposed to, the lizard says
a bandage

Take one, and you will feel alive ( Read more... )

The haystack of blood, fly swarms

To go to the scarlet field
And find rusty keys, small animal bones
To look up and see tiny hands coming out
From every cloud, every parachute

There are millions, sucking from the sugar
And the wet dirt and the bad blood
Curdled, unprotected -- a tired disco
Asking and
Alone.

We met at the sun
We rested in a shallow crater
Curled up and held each other
While all bombs of the universe went off around us

And you gave me the moon
To watch it melt in my hands
Like a cold, dripping silver

Beauty crowned and then
Broken by deep cuts
Standing by itself, a lonely

A source of pleasure luring no one

Confetti flutters to the empty streets
To imagined screams and grasps

We put playing cards upon the naked body
In red light
And smile from across the table

matching birds
wrapped in black stitches

they offer their tongues
and extra feathers
they cut off their talons and grind them into
a fine white powder
to sit with eye-patches and

blow it all about the room, a curling smoke

birds are song birds
and everyone listens

(their small tongues often fall out
but can always be placed again)

The branch twitters, shadows
Inside rooms, where people feed on what they want
Through antique lace, through the ladders
And fences and gates and dark corridors
The yellow corner of the room

Beaming, when the day turns,
Their imprints remaining after all the life had gone

Shadows,
Half-smiles. celluloid
the sky