reed canes

by Tempest Miller

Weed him out in the reed canes.

Fashion a jousting stick of diesel-black.

Things need to be reeded out, worked out,

fleshed.

I say this because I have worked with trawls,

and my wife was a physician who would sketch biology.

And I would stand and stare

in the doors and halls

with mirrors

with houses with faces with vacuums and holes,

mouths.

It takes a lot of destruction to create the world,

I believe this,

and there is a life of destruction to realise it.

My wife and I, we are twelve-year-olds in the broken places.

We are poultry in the broken places.

Children, dogs lying on each other like hills,

sprawled footpaths.

In my dreams,

I see the reed canes

and mad cowboys with broken bones

riding over them, black and molten,

let down in fire

the size of a shopping centre.

A space carved out,

and even a cough can be beautiful,

even arrogance can make me wince.

Tempest Miller (he/him, twitter: @ectoplasmphanta) is an LGBTQ+ writer from the UK. His work has appeared in Swamp Pink and JAKE, and is forthcoming in the Chiron Review. His debut chapbook, “England 2K State Insekt”, was released in February 2024. He lives between a building and a lake surrounded by green trees.