Like it Matters by Nancy Dzina

(is a poem within the poem AutoBiOblit)

Unblanked paper deceives. Quineauesque

introduction: disbosom. Pan-o-ram. Cotton Mather

implies licking, saucy, underlying substance. Chops.

Poetry got spendy. Losses may be paid by removal,

exposure, but not zero-sum style. Not prim.

Striptease, strip poker, speak easy but don’t

give it away. Hatta’s game is always afoot.

Starting gate is finish line. In the velodrome

of writing prompts, we are all of us going

nowhere. X-P13 AAG-TGC-ACG-GCC-TAT-AAG

on earth, all “rosy of glow” every time.

Where eternal repetition  means more than

broken record, form alone gives me

the slip. Probably pink. Imagine an ellipsis

no longer material. It’s Carl Sagan time, &

a no-brainer down to the letter. I know

therefore I am Superfluous Girl. Why try?

Flurry, by JKD

a rewording, downparing of Dzina's "On the other hand"

Invisible petals 
flowerbursts 
through snow
a Sunday morning



.

On the other hand by Nancy Dzina

After Jennifer K. Dick's poem "Palm Reading" after Cole Swensen’s poem “Fingers: Alignment”

Someone else sees

in their hands our eyes

no longer (ours). This fading’s

not so bad, so long

ago apparent, no need

to rush things, after all

we have light years

before our map carries

much less names.

                           Invisible

petals drop, the flower

bursts to finish, the floor

holds a different notion of

where we are in the story.

The waggle of pages, time

gesture time: gently just-so cast

inner layer tender out then mend

one for another, knowing

and knowing not what hint

of rock may steady then break

any drift of witness. Even

interlocked phalanges

spring from open palms

unbrailled with potential.

When I was a kid, though I never

saw it, I knew the congregation

of the steepled church of hands

could become unpeopled

at the blink of a trigger guard.

Try to disturb my fist.

Good luck with that.