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Men in White
Men in Blue and Gray
and the other white, each
plunge crazily toward the earth
they share with it
the sound of branches
the wax head
gently backwards. This
city blacked out
Faced with such a mystery, the
victims of mass hallucination
the climax of the day. Every bell in the city
to destroy soft tissues, the skull
through metal netting
[They] entangled their legs
while striking a match to
The contours of the land
radiance. This radiance lit up
The orchard glimmers emerald, is pock-marked with dandelion clocks
And beneath an apple tree blossoming pink is a broken harpsichord, rotting
With its soundboard growing moss and its rusty strings writhing with maggots
A fawn plays the broken harpsichord at night while the orchard keepers are sleeping
Making broken noises for the other animals of the countryside
And when his hooves press on the shattered keys the dandelions make wishes for themselves
Releasing their feathered seedlings into the milk of the sky
The orchard keepers do not stir in their sheets, they do not hear the broken music
And when the morning comes slowly in orange, the fawn returns to the forest
And automated sprinklers pop out of the ground to feed the apple trees
Alone in the orchard
The broken harpsichord is a wooden carcass, soft and molding
With wind from the bruised mountains scattering petals all over it's velvet coverings
Olivia Kennett is a warrior poet, visual artist and musician living in New Hampshire. She has worked as a production assistant, baker, and model. Now she makes most of her money peddling vitamins and wonder-cures to upper-middle class America. In her spare time she counts bones, picks apples, watches the water, and identifies birds. She has self-published three books of poetry — 24 Pygmy Poems, Cave of Fur, and Seeing the Glass Ball Grow Milky. She plans to continue writing and creating. You can purchase her poetry books and art at OliviaKennett.etsy.com. Her best friend is a dog named Ginkgo.