Kristen Orser
Words certainly happened:

		West wind, did you hear the kazoo?	
		The weakening layers of cakes?	

The birthday is burning in a daydream and there is no logic of place	:	A storm

in the teacup.  A black veil is useful for some.  Here, which is somewhere that's nowhere, centaurs saddle their swelling folds, everyone becomes subcultural.  





	
					(Including the self shadow—the thin little reedy sound among the rocks and the slip of a girl that follows.)