Sharpen your weapon, swing two hands | grip sans shield, take muzzled stone men’s blows, pause to defrag | I’m warned be wary of charmer THE PARDONER is here to sell her “temp auto counter” miracles proffered by an AI | worldwide boys ring the Parish Bell too, ground through, running down cornrow | wall walks. Radial garden lights say “go forward!” to a cheery soft hollow. | She meditates a boreal glow, diegetic invisible crickets, | churning water like buttermilk. Above is something tonic | green, a helical fly propelled by dial croons an operatic swansong | a new brute on the outskirts lobs his blade surprised, she breaks like terra cotta. | It’s not wise to equip during battle but murder is like shopping, a kind of satori.

JESS JENKINS hails from Southern West Virginia via Iowa and currently lives, works and teaches in Tucson where she is an M.F.A candidate in Poetry at the University of Arizona. She is the winner of the 2013 UA Poetry Center Contest and her works has appeared or is forthcoming in journals like Jellyfish, Cloud Rodeo and Banango Street. She is the Web Editor and Content Developer for Sonora Review. She also writes about, thinks about, plays and watches others play lots of games.