Featured Poet: O. Hunt’s Bloodless Coup Realized

Banks,
are no longer robbed by strangers
from outside,
while dressed as nuns,
or in masks of dead presidents.
Caper costumes and getaway cars
are now online auction items,
resold at garage sales;
round yellow stickers peeling up
price negotiable
in St. Louis.
All is
bloodless
during teleportation jumps.
Thus,
all
reshaped forms,
re-invested with
compulsory
blood and marrow,
dream of
bloodless coups,
a mimetic
teleportation
experience.
Paschal Lambs,
my friends,
forget them where they lie.
They lie!
For,
you don’t need a monocle
to see
banks are robbed
from on High.

And all things
with positive potential
have an equal
base appeal.
O. Hunt
runs a small daycare
in Boise, Idaho.
This is the
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from the aether.
Picture it:

Ofelia Hunt
floating in white wispy dress
caring for toddlers.
Only true,
one wonders,
in a devilish profile blurb
at Bear Parade.
And yet,
why not?
A false statement,
if ever one was read in the light,
reveals more than it conceals.
Or,
a true statement,

read with a false heart…
Oh, I never wonder anymore.
In St. Louis,
there’s a Safeway store
with perfectly parked
little Hondas
Or,
in this case,
Boise, Idaho.
And the perfectly parked
Honda
is
Ofelia’s.
“Because one baby is like any other baby”.
Right?

And babies
are most
important
before they’re
born.
For after,
mother’s talk about
werewolves and
black bear traps
on
cell-phones
while polishing their
peg-legs.
And those babies
move from the
Rockies
to
Portland, Oregon

just to find…
and in find-
ing
lose-
ing
them-
selves
in backwater
river dells
of aether and
words,
until fear
stops
them in
Time.
Time
to type
in jest
the magically
unrevealing,
smirk-adorned,
phrase:
“runs a small
daycare
in Boise, Idaho.”
Then the jest
jumps
find-
ing

its selfsame
photon
in Boise,
and leaving an
empty version of
O. Hunt
for me
in the bounds of
her tabular image
frame.

 

By K. Shawn Edgar