Landon Godfrey's collection of poems, Second-Skin Rhinestone-Spangled Nude Soufflé
Chiffon Gown (Cider Press Review, 2011), was selected by David St. John for the 2009
Cider Press Review Book Award. She is also the author of two limited-edition letterpress
chapbooks, In the Stone (RAPG-funded artist's book, 2013) and Spaceship (Somnambulist
Tango Press, 2014). Her poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Slice, Bombay Gin,
The Collagist, Copper Nickel, Best New Poets, Verse Daily, and other places; her fiction
has been published in Waxwing. Also an artist, she co-edits, -designs, and -publishes
Croquet, a letterpress postcard broadside poetry journal. Born in Washington, DC, she
lives in Black Mountain, North Carolina (USA).
Flame burns only one temperature, promises the gas grill pitchman on TV. Many stars would disagree. That one last night that smoldered blue above our lake talked about the whole panoply of hots and colds. Small blond dog sleeping on lap. Jet fuel. A Vermont lake's deep dream of idyllic love. I don't know. So many people want to be right, I almost never need to give an answer. But if I were to solve for x, I'd include the glacial slowness we sometimes feel when we try to catch up with the horizon. And the green-ball-and-brown-stick trees we drew there as children. Those trees stuck straight up out of the flawed lines we—with such crayoned exactitude—placed right in the middle of the page. My hand trembled. Your hand trembled.
Bears are breaking into houses again. The season of wakefulness follows winter around like a mother suggesting pink dresses to a teenager's cave-dwelling eyes. Light moves on. Caravaggio painted light's portrait so beautifully, shadow felt adored too. Poison, suppurating wounds, and sunstroke killed him. Light moves on. The bears are always hungry.
Wait a long time for a ticket wait a long time for departure your dress a stain lie down on the floor listen to feet thudding past your head a lullaby a thuddaby let the airport's flight architecture float your dreams of arrayed wings out the enormous window be awakened by a starling this terminal-trapped bird's going to fly until it dies not you you'll walk there
Back to Front.