by Carrie Lorig
I WILL ADDRESS YOU AS HORSE
Horse, you can beat
your lips together
for sugar.
Horse, let's drive through
some mountainous
peaches.
Horse, what words
will make boots
heel?
Horse, you said, "If you don't
hold fog for one to two minutes,
it will lift."
Horse, the ginger and leather
in your slouch.
Horse, your cheek
steaks.
Horse, we will put microphones under everyone's shirts.
Horse, we will listen
to their open mouth
polka dots.
Horse, we will hear
a blood crunch.
Horse, the mildly abandoned
have begun to twist.
A DREAM
is the sexy rush
of an ambulance
through the light.
A DREAM
is a garbage
collection
about you.
A DREAM
uses a particular cut
to get flowers
inside.
A DREAM
eats carefully
on the lawn,
me and a few
peach
nobodies.
Right now, Carrie Lorig is a bike messenger drinking the day's last cup of coffee in Madison, WI. In the fall, she will begin her first year in the MFA program at the University of Minnesota.