[The Black Ice Weaves Itself Like Leaves]
Michael Cooper
the black ice weaves itself like leaves
undispersing the light each hydrostat a precoded strategy of capture each a blade the stop light cameras runs out of film long before
money loses
its value a mailroom breach it’s sort left to the lichen among
the slots in and out boxes the people clumped fungi pieces of them are hacked off
smaller stalks rise among the waist
high grasses that engulf our sidewalks their letters lost his text
left unanswered I didn’t
know
Kyle slowly loads the revolver of late night
at my terminal Ascii opens and closes its sideways mouth the way
each crowd has its yeses and its no’s the umbrellas
bloom in unison to catch water in their beaks
MICHAEL COOPER is an inland empire poet, PoetrIE member, MFA student, Veteran, and father of two great sons: Markus & Jonathan. You can find his work in Tin Cannon, The Pacific Review, The Chaffey Review, The Camel Saloon, Creepy Gnome, Milspeaks: Memo, Split Lip, and other fine (but wild) publications. Michael would like to make you aware that the splash zone includes the first 11 rows.