Horizon by Stevie Beisswanger

There are stars inside you, feel 

yourself low 

  to the ground, feel 

yourself low —crickets of old calling 


     Olly oxen, on the farce side  

    of freedom (we live)  


In pictures: this movie madhouse— 

she with thesnakesmile that breaks to 

sweet songs; her portals to otherworlds 



your reality  

is a warm blanket 


you are not  

your violence 


There are choices and there are wheels, 


         And on the stage: 

a pound of gauze, a mound 

of flesh 

little voice singing in featherbreath: Beauty’s privilege— 



Re Define —write it in the contours of time, then 


Bury your hands, Death-the-inevitable 

end(ing) sound —sliding door;  or 


Ally chair to nowhere, spray paint prophesying “You 

are not here” 

Who sits, who stares into places they are not? 


Sometimes it seems the seams of the perceivable Universe split 

open and I see it all— divide and collide like 

Kaleidoscope Isotopes, my 


Animal Infinitesimal Duet washed 

like sea glass on the spool. 


By Stevie Beisswanger