Hot Metal Bridge

Current Issue : Number Twenty-Five

Three Riffs

BY JANIS BUTLER HOLM

 

Definition

It isn’t purple. Shimmer, clink. Hair of bee. Deep in gobbets, prattle, heckling flesh, I move to settle. Take this landscape: quiet asphalt, smooth brocade. Cherry-balled tomato aspect. Hollow rhythms. Do you see?

 

Fission

If clarity were curtains, the answer could be fish. Desiccated, coruscated, red with old balloons. It would matter, all the same, that we should trifle, raze, deliver, choose our dearest choosing, freely scoot the moot. Say what you still. She who listens? Fission. Boulder, kettle, bone.

 

Similitude

The locus of here is now. Oh, wow. Similitude, dude. Permutations on the pulses, tablature of same. Crow flies low. Give me hot money love, rumble and flux. In this, our freaky firmament, synchrony rules. Assemblies of dust and viridian mold. Dream schemes, organ grinders. Luminous glue. Can’t help myself. La, la. I’m like you and everyone else.



Janis Butler Holm (Three Riffs) lives in Athens, Ohio, where she served as Associate Editor for Wide Angle, the film journal. Her essays, stories, poems, and performance pieces have appeared in small-press, national, and international magazines.