flowers froth-blooming:
carmine and daffodil, orchid and violet
green glimmering alien iridescence
autumn winding through
the karmic wheel, edifice of life
straddling life, the earth
bleeding earth, brief
cracking clouds, a second
late blooming still alive
late but not too late.

nourishing the bones of my quiet aether behind
the ginkgo tree, kicking crabapples aside
joy, resurrection, and
faeries made from pegs with
clear gray eyes
the children of the garden I have sprung myself into
a toadstool circle
letting limbs play in
warmth and cold earth
fiddle and mandolin intertwining,
opening this moment, this twist of
sunlight crosses
withdraws and returns.

part picking pinecones
part launching plastic disks and
juggling spheres
my fingers cross pupils beckoning my life
my heart back together
my dream coaxing open
the places of my body I had walled off
letting myself laugh
letting gravity slough
the fur, withdraw
my claws, blunt
my fangs
I’m still here I realize and
always have been.

not some facsimile
stink of bison dung
geese screamalong with
busted wings
trees painted red
the quarry-pouring
river under hills
suspended running
over and over arbor
vacuum, glacier-ridden
braiding my toes into
cold black earth.

the bicycle
bite of chocolate
taste vivisecting,
to vocalizing.
no longer forcing,
she goes, stays, tangles
centuries in the forge, singing
i have never let her
suffer from hunger
i am justified.

pearl sunrise,
muting whirling vapor misting
disguising passion, heat and light
your atmosphere a fairy tale
masquerading as fairies clad in
doe eye pink
this is the longing
the whipping post
arrayed in gold,
the invincible sun
the tiger shark,
the solitary ravenous hunger,
the driving need,
the burning soul of
wild morning metamorphoses
whether ovid or ovarian
a flower does not know how it will unfold
only that it will
only that it must

Serah Wolfe is a poet, painter, and writer dwelling in the American Midwest. Her work is an articulation of a utopian vision of community and erotic longing in a post-internet world, written in defiance of our colonial, auto-cannibalistic, and phantasmic monoculture. She writes poems shaped like jellyfish made of electricity and perfume.