blucifer |
Issue 7
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the brawny cobalt archangel guards peña boulevard and his
naked, exposed-wire veins, had seemed much larger when i first arrived in denver for a failed intervention; if you had told me that the statue was a hundred feet tall instead of thirty, i would have believed you, because that is the size i imagined him to be when i heard he killed his creator. it had not been the body committing patricide–it had only been the head: cranium cutting through luis jimenezs leg, a too-heavy mind lashing out at its unsolicited existence. as though the mustang had been curbing a bender, family and friends rushed to clean up what was left, sending fragmented fiberglass limbs off to california to be rehabilitated, that is, to be put together, assembled whole, either finally or again. time passes and he returns, intact and standing not far from where he had once laid helplessly in a pile of his own regret. now he flexes an aggressive solitary stampede into the west, spending his time scanning the rocky embankments before him and below him, forever charging towards the endless need to leave a place in order to return. |
AMANDA NICOLE CORBIN
has been published in magazines like Troublemaker Firestarter, Door is a Jar, Impossible Task, and the Notre Dame Review. Her first poetry micro-chapbook, they drink with the sun, is also forthcoming through Bottlecap Press. Her work focuses on alcoholism, recovery, and mental health. She’s currently in Columbus, Ohio writing, collecting dolls, and playing Magic the Gathering. |