Falling, parachutes hiss:
windgrammar is
tears salting the bridge
from reason.
Memory, green leash,
flags in the heat.
Hedges, hulls,
craypaper, wire.
Sew the dress,
golf in the olive
grove. Whatever
balcony glows
it’s still always
an unfinished
room. Moonlover,
shoot to rule.
Mahogany boys
stand, palms up
crystal bullet eyes
wide, my, my.
Default to Scotch.
Default to West.
The revolver’s ok,
take that.
V. Joshua Adams is a former editor of Chicago Review and teaches literature and writing at the University of Louisville.