Patrick Norris is a poet from Arcadia Florida and a recent M.F.A. graduate of Florida International University’s creative writing program. His work has previously appeared in 3:AM Magazine.
You can see buffalo from the train, eerily.
The rose clouds on the field: a single bloody dream.
The agitated summers in my bread are composed there.
They’d like to sneak into the clouds and make a soul.
Light begins. At midday I travel again.
In a factory the red trees are earsplitting.
Carousels dry into mortar and leather straps.
You are terse and stuffed with bread.
Like so many unromantic people.
MOVE THE DOUGHNUTS
It is summer of idiot move the doughnuts
Summer idiot behind his house bright
°°°°° bright yell the big trees with teeth deep ice breaths
Draw a gun €⁄ a horse € a birthmark ‹€
I a donut plays at the window, beastly blossom fritters as large trees rest the rot in it.
Rub your cheek on the carpet:
No idea is simple.
We both talk a little bit some mornings.
You’re an architect
I’m a hyena
James Dean comes back
from the dead.
His hands float
inside a red jacket.
He has bought
a new switchblade.
He also has a bag of apples.