Three Poems by Katy Chrisler

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GIVEN KNOW HOW

Pockets in a region,
burn. The prick. The
house down below
the gathering zone.
Given them no. I gave.
Longer priested, I fired
a warning shot toward
the treeline. If you move,
you’re safe. Between
the dirt and mud, there
is space to arrive.
At sunset, we fold atop
one another. Listen
to the choir. After
hours fall, I’ll cover you
in ash. Ask nothing crude
of sleep. Make it shame
to slip up.

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SURGE THROUGH NO FAULT OF OUR OWN

A uniform memory
concerns this property.
The same performance
takes place in the desiccant
unless you prevent it.
We have very good reasons
to be honest. A test can be made.
Doubts over scenes that
precede the future follows.
This list should take care
of your physical comforts.
Pull the pear to bring forth
the blossom. Face toward light.
Velvet while in the garden,
tired muscles little more than cut,
creep. Be honest, even then
had the knack. Noon and hot
carry disfigurations. Same
appearance before damage.
We are at home in its vivid hue.
Those that do not need to be buried
in the sand sever. The cut pear
must be standing upright.

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A SLIGHTLY SIMILAR ROPE

Smaller dancers, remnants
pink and stilt. Fruit and teas
for search. Petals in kind
like careful organs. Shorten
the vowels employed in
volume. Let there be there.
Desire in some way can be
bought. Along with exile,
in ritual of spiritual decay.  

The language comes
The language comes  

Arrow, second arrow

No visitors to wash the hull,
a slight slope of fluency.
Bestow a hint, stretched habit.
Erosion has made the mouth
of the river shallow. Mistakes
still could not be found.