The Poetry Project

Micah Ballard


Arrested for telling fortunes
(without a license) I orient my services
using stunt dummies around actual crypts
The bulbs are infrared and lead to a sunken garden
disguised as a tent in the sky
so the benevolent thespians can speak again
I am nominated to be one of the levitators
A noble beast nipping generously from the land of limbo
Turns out toasting the galaxies is draining
Who brought the Wanda Tipping Table anyway
& why are the gowns a hundred bones
per fitting? I am not trained but can connect you
Among the gullible I'm on a word fast
They say I have the psychic faculty of a dog


Impressively human
with a lack of commercial staying power
I awake a rotting mansion
just another shadow in the chiaroscuro
Missing the points of my greatest peaks
the words fill up dead spaces
by sparking conversation
No less ridiculous pretending to be
King Lady & the House Menace
The camaraderie finally alive again
kicked out of my own band
for holding hands with the psychic janitor
Physical form never mattered anyway
knowing all the snakes thru lineage of venom
I have the fortune of directing
their cumulative gloom and specialized dread
If you lower expectations the volume gets higher
Hermit brooding at the charity gala
the visions are driven because we are the vehicle
Among the asymptomatic superspreaders
cheap melodrama works to poison homage
When I came down their cologne hurt my stomach
but the serum extract from the new reptiles
sustained the air and thus made me
blissfully unaware

Issue 19