Skip to main content

Dance Party at the Public Glasshouse

ISSUE:  Winter 2019

Wine between cacti and carnivorous flytraps,
our bodies syncing to the DJ’s bad decisions,
I can’t stop getting turned on

by the idea of myself 
somewhere without neighbors,
out by a river called Rogue or Big something.

I’m in a greenhouse corner with Katie, 
her perfect American jeans 
and baby eyes that widen adorably 

when she sees something surprising. 
Lights, snaked through the pots,
color our faces with neon-pink blinks.

There are lots of petable leaves
and she would like to get married 
to a hypothetical being, grow a human, the whole shebang.
We talk about how frightening this is to want 
and we talk about horses, 
a topic I know as an idea and she knows actually,
kind of like how we both know marriage, 
but opposite. And Out There like Ideas
the bears are. And the solitudes are. 

And her husband. And the fish I could stab in the head
myself to gauge if I should ever eat flesh 
again. And In Here is a pleasure 

I’m allowing to continue. O Cowardice, 
there’s one plant in this conservatory 
made of glass and I’ve found it.


This question is for testing whether or not you are a human visitor and to prevent automated spam submissions.

Recommended Reading