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Silk Floral Party

1.         I feel it in the way my hands are
thick with stilled           dreams in the morning &
all their bones, but       mainly
the main ones,

gone very wide with a milky
essence. Life is coming.

Sunshine like a dervish,                       or
a cymbal,         splitting cells.
Illness like        a wellness         forcing calm.

Guess if I had to choose I’d say plumeria
is the most god flower, because it
smells amazing                         shares the good
word of love & fullness, and     within
its causeways                of latex, the future flows.

2.         Driving along the habitual broad blvd,
boarded shops are a     procession of
right                 & left hand men.

Like water leaves, precious first to fall.

And per its signage Silk
Floral Party      e x i s t s.
Wet thatch        of stamens        behind washes of
light-meet-dust             smoke on the sparkling water.

These slipping sights,               timeslip
begin like sand to         coalesce           some kind of pinnacle?

To acquiesce                 tumble of godhead?

Eleusinian garden?     Well find me there,        an hourish from now
doing some           thing in the weeds.

It’s sort of like that one time     cormorant discarded itself,        
cast- off stocking                     on the nightshore        

or the gratitude of ages, mycelial bread, we
can       pack it for lunch tomorrow






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Allison Hummel is based in Los Angeles. Her work has recently appeared in Wax Nine, Dream Pop, Cordite Poetry Review and Flag + Void. Work is forthcoming from Landlocked and new sinews.