Dogged Down in the Midst of Zither

by Heather Mykkole Glover

Images by K Rayker


Her lips awoke the somber city,

as blood dripped from

her lustful sword.

She looked to the skies,

and saw the crows

paint the sky tragic.

The hum of the lantern

crawled back to her throat

and the music of the streets

danced until the yawn

of the restless piqued her interest.

The billowed walls were none of hers,

those helpless casts of unseen lyres,

being plucked passed her

and the smiles gauging

what frowns she donated.


She spent the dark on

things greater than her body

and used the product on

the substance of day.

She sang the song of the end,

where the beginning should have been.

She told herself she wasn’t the only one.

The only one to swallow lives

and hula hoop with stars.

Four seconds was a long time

for her to dream.

To dream under a big top,

where she wasn’t the only one.

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