Eszter Takacs is the author of these chapbooks, Together We Will Talk Right Down
to Earth
(The New Megaphone, 2014) and The Spectacular Crash (H_NGM_N
Books, 2013). Additionally, her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Salt
, Yalobusha Review, Sink Review, Smoking Glue Gun, Interrupture, Birdfeast,
Forklift Ohio, Diagram, Word Riot, Thrush, ILK, Cloud Rodeo and elsewhere. She was
born in Hungary and is currently an MFA candidate at the University of Arkansas.

Poem in Which You Move to the Beat

Festive shark shapes glide the light box.
Buy yourself two whistles and a horse.
You will be OK inside your wings.
Think up. Think up. Consider the nostril
as an entire being, the hair of symbolism
being its own dark terrain, just another horse
being a smaller horse, dark inside the dark.

There is imagination in the oven.
A small part of infatuation is plastic.
If you line up the distance between storms,
you might find another horse eating a bone,
another simple answer locked inside a cloud,
baring its soul to the sound of your heart.
O, predictions! You are just another ape in a basket.

Poem in Which You Become a Regrettable City
after Mohammad Azarm

Is this an implicit fraction?
If they put you in quotes
caution and avoidance echo.

Is this a regrettable place?
I ate the distinguished meal of the day
returning the color of bread to the skin.

Are you the stability of prayer?
Supervision is by healthy meat.

Is this an event of free space?
Like moist coffee going cited
may the filthy blunt thicken humans with crime.

Can you give me something perpetual?
I am reciting the unfunded clouds from memory.

Are you inside?
I am inside the language of cataloged shadows.

Are you a figurative army of echoes?
In the middle of memory we sit
unaccessed where things are scattered.

Are you a car full of people turning right?
Nothings and thoughts are going wayward.

Do you have the time?
You become the calendar that shall be elbowed
like a swamp without boundaries.

Are you hungry?
I am deployed into the normal prayer.

Are you a cautious society of stars?
Calendar my deployed head releasing
at nothing that by echo does not resist.

Poem In Which You Become the Sky

This is a letter in which
you, double-tongued heart,
become the sky,
the letter in which your cow face
becomes my black human shape
of ordinary geometry in a cup.

This is the letter in which
my black human shape becomes
your artichoke hand,
the letter in which our entire house
considers the wind
and we've become too polite to scream.

My favorite part of today is you,
you quite unusual mystique of lions.
What you are doing is a
very large question
full of elephants boxing the night,
full of the biggest hope ever imagined.

Poem in Which You Invent Fear

You have the following
to smile terribly at the plain sky
and at this cute pizza behind your face.
When the hem decrees silence
under an earnest moon,
inside our apartment the pizza is feeling
unloved and hip and crouching.
The way an everlasting siren of macabre
is resistant to economic turmoil,
I have fertile hips to give away desperately
to your numerical legs.
Inside an apartment's funeral
walking and walking is a sundress
mutated by your absence of white.
At this slow funeral
where forgiveness is the erasure of palms
and everything is terribly deep,
you are blind and so very brave
to be a stranger.

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