1/11/2018 Poetry by Amy Kotthaus Visit Lakeland CC Idols She’s no idol clutched in beige waiting rooms by white knuckled hands or hung from rear view mirrors. She doesn't bring miracles to barren women or protect the traveler. Yet, men are eager to fill her smoky altar with gifts of azurite beads and silver teeth. She sits in lotus, palms up. Luminescent liquid collects, builds teardrops at her fingertips. Brittle in descent, they shatter, diamond dust covering the floor of her sorrow temple. Husbands carve her image onto their wives’ faces. How disappointed they are when the pain is dull. American Plague Report A virus causing fevers in the brain. See: deafness, blindness, manic, seizing fits. See: gene mutation. Patient zero found among the men who took the vellum house and dragged its vested priests to hanging deaths; they set the ink bowl offerings alight. Reports of charcoal smoke clouds are confirmed, and subjects now presenting with effects of gaseous pigment inhalation. See: diverse acuity of paranoid delusions (gendered lives and fetal deaths, their bodies mummified in newsprint scraps). We fail to replicate the antidote, and subjects are refusing all relief. Worm blade turned inward scarlet, tin, iron on skin the hermaphroditic worm Janus smells life, seeks sustenance more blades clamor "feed the worm!" knives cut knives lonely, this worm feeding Alexandria Shards of paper between my teeth, razors drawing blood to mix with ink on my gums. I swallow this simple syrup, unfurl my scroll tongue to lap the last from my lips. ![]() Bio: Amy Kotthaus is a poet and photographer. Her poetry has been published in Glass: A Journal of Poetry, Yellow Chair Review, Occulum, and others. Her photography has been published in Storm Cellar, Typehouse Literary Magazine, Moonchild Magazine, Crab Fat Magazine, and others. She currently lives in Maine with her husband and children. Comments are closed.
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