An air pocket of the Atlantic where sea urchins
never care to go, serves drinks to mottled mammals
who can never leave – unless they care to slump
from suffocation.
Braided, tangerine salamanders, underarms moaning
with salt, peer upon aluminum bumblebees
sliding along neon armadillos
and mocking Echinacea crows.
A lobster jockey spins otherworldly music
for no money – only naked air and occasional escargot.
Turquoise barnacles, woven in pastel gristle,
dance to tapestry turntable, squashing the gritty, loam horizon.
Jocular taxidermists, draped in tattered lingerie, pores oozing
with tequila, pose for a regrettable daguerreotype. They know
it won’t get out, and so pay the shadowy eel double for his trouble
and twist each other’s nipples.
All this, while embroidered infestations of rooster whistles
circle the wheezing anvil, probing for limpid portals.
About the Poet
Dawn M. Wooten has been writing poetry since the age of 14. It has been her outlet for dealing with tragedies, conflicts, and spiritual warfare. She studied under Indiana Poet Laureate and surrealist author George Kalamaras for two years at Indiana University. She is currently working on her first, full book of poetry. She and her husband of 25 years, Wyatt, live in the Colorado Springs area.
