by Gibson Fay-LeBlanc

She led me in among the voiceless things.
A long hallway, of course, and locked doors.
She asked me to describe their pins and springs.

Some glittered, some were bone; others clung
to jambs on chains: padlocks of flesh, of coral.
She led me quietly, with cunning, and sang

wordlessly, asked of the contents and tongues
she heard shifting behind the veins of mortar.
I asked her what she knew of hidden things.

I said, The mechanisms are mystifying,
the tumblers keyless: they’re best left unforced.
She asked me to describe a latch, a spring.

I said, This vault’s old, see the patterning
on the lock?  A child’s scratchings: a hex to ward
off those led in among the voiceless things.

And she: It’s just a door, push it, let it spring —
how else will you know what’s in there, so long stored?
I let her in among my voiceless things —
pins in my hands, I began remembering.

by Simon Pettet

Two oranges,  incense,  a little fire water

Some tastefully–wilted flowers,

A perpetually shining bowl

Two cups

by Simon Pettet

Each portion

of perfect beauty

is acutely noted,

deftly remarked upon

and

not at all dismissed

Clap hands mouth clichés.

When did you stop loving me?

I never stopped loving you!,

How could you possibly say such terrible things?

I don’t.  You do,

You do, sweetie, you do . . .

by Simon Pettet

lizard sits on a rock

lizard sits

sun’s hot

sun refracted to lizard

through the spotlessly–clean high–rise

plate–glass windows.

lizard is not disturbed by this

not at all

lizard even opens self up wider,

stretch to properly adjust

to the sun’s rays

lizard finds health and warmth in the depth

of winter

— and this is not what lizard expects!