Kristen Orser

Dear mistake,

Swans flew through the mail slot.  I didn't even know it was winter—

                                                                                                            I'm sorry we speak a different                                                                                                             language, but I'm yearly

                                                                                                            becoming less oblique. 

                                                My beloved is a deer—which happens in the unpinned mind:

            A cake with candles that never blew out and another cake too pretty to eat.  Then, the nouns broke.  You thought I said something I'd never say (it was at this time two spiders came in from the cold and died with their legs knotted together). 

After a time of apologies, I started coming to be in the shape of a sphere:  Mint juleps and fainting spells, I have no opinion: The shape of a thread and also the universe:  The twining of plants, the turning of screws, and twisting of snail shells.               

                                                                         I mean, I put my finger in an electrical socket

and imagined my non pregnant self drinking in the kiddie pool.

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