Michelle Taransky
A Flower Within

A flower within a flower whose history
Pressed paradox

At an idea of the particular harvest— One volume
As a relief, as thirteen different voices

Those hard takes
By mast
You blame the mast
The entrances like seraphs
Are exiting and are
The falling for another
River called Parent
The parents said no no we are not going
To cross

It’s is not a ghost in their desert
Ghost not ghetto but what was
Got in the word the ghost had

Left and let a war cry
Without a word to cross

First shot where
We were crossed they
Are not diseases they are a mistake being made

A shot—               Shorter description of the building

Depending on
Who forfeits it
And saluted all
The inviolate
Working to place

Glory by hold
Old lead-salute

As though uproar not
Flying firm it
Affirmed: bulwark
You are howling

That lasts
And yes that
Waits in the kindling
Of addresses

Evading horse-traders as both
Trader and horse are flittering

Great falls

Habit from boxcar
Boxcar gilded or fallen apart
At the silken bank notes

Should halyard move the farmstead’s
Fictive flag-poles

Repetition pulses
The key to key
Open a lock
To get

Well and to be
Bringing a spark
Time seized the eyelid
Oldest dream about
Twitch and creak
That I made the sixth book
Burn

Made a machine and then a machine
To burn the machine
Machine
Exist patriot exists despite being
Forgotten through a window

Building a camera
To title it

In the follower’s resting-
Place between black
Is blind as Grubber’s orders