James Kelly Quigley

I inquired
through
gesture
about the
upright
piano
tucked in
the corner
of the pub
smoked chalky
Irish cigs
out on the
cobbles
a gaggle
of ladies
tittered by
with a zillion
happy freckles
my god have
you seen the
anemones I said
on the prowl
for all of good
christendom
and we walked
separately across
a stone bridge
sentenced to
death by
lichen
whereupon I
reached the
other side that far
greater side
and began
patiently nailing
a frog
to a tree

First there was the sound of majestic pines. Marmalade came later and with pansies. Today Brigham Young is a place you can visit, if you so choose. Myself, I went to Chincoteague, but I guess all the ponies were sleeping. The fleas were, in a word, autodidactic. I drank the packet of coffee that was doled out by the state representative. Everything’s liminal if you want to be a dick about it. Mystery comes from the Latin mysterium, denoting a craft or service. A man jogs toward a white moving-van and removes his glockenspiel. I’m really trying to tell you something right now.

James Kelly Quigley believes in the great horned owl.