ERIC BAUS
PLAN FOR A LAKE ON THE CEILING OF A CINEMA
The sudden sea erased my feet. The coastline was curving away. The owl trapped in the air formed a time-lapsed flash. The small moon looped on mono. The surging bird coughed fur into my eyes as its maps were put to sleep.
EXALTED CLOTH
The pupa's lids wore blizzards until an errant rope panicked into hands. It wove archival quality ant salts but its sputtering organs soloed inanely. When the floor woke above its overdubbed bed the startled rubble administered stilts. It slid through its stitches. It spat a form of exalted cloth. Its itinerant skin dripped beginner's milk.
COMPOUND MOUTH
The decoy voices grafted underground. Our centuries share a bed, snored the chorus.
Eric Baus is the author of The To Sound (Wave Books, 2004), Tuned Droves (Octopus Books, 2009), Scared Text (Colorado State University Press, 2011), and The Tranquilized Tongue (City Lights, forthcoming 2014). He lives in Denver.