norma cole



by water in the glass bottom boat. As if seen through a cloud. Oil refinery across from flight path. Big white drums. Wall of mountains moving past not singing. Stringing shadows on the wall, floor, beyond even me as though it’s already been written. Red flowers on our left, his right, in the background, some apples and green grapes. “That’s not why you sent me here.” Compromising was called clearing one’s throat. Do they operate? Fish transforms itself in order to survive.


The Horse Declares

Conversation between me and my horse—the horse declares you enter into the world of time. How long have you known me? I thought. Reading lions of france for the lords of finance. Toast qua toast, whole taken for parts. The haystack—it figures. Me and my horse, we are delicately bound to one another by the resistant air. I came, I saw, I want to go home.