VIOLET TREDWELL HULL
quiet holds
with strength thick-stripe charter
breaks waves. its boat knife-body in a V
decants fat drops of the ocean’s towers and columns.
staunching gush after gush from the cap of my head
that flaps, exposed by sideways rain. pulling up rope
more thumbing marks. i find your smile dragging
smudge white blue and gray, emptied, unchanged,
and then upon me, battening me prometheus.
through sidewound corridors to warm,
polished, bronze, sextant dog piles coo.
filling corners. up and down accordion like
jonesing dream. populus buried milk pleasure promised to be
sniffed out, dug for, freed.
the dried petals rain down too from her eaves and catch on me.
it’s the sound of it, it’s the sound of her whispers
breeding defenses,
daring taut magic.
––––
homegrown
kirk, look, the puss, it’s, it’s wailing
into the bubble glassed honesty quiz
all the ants are holding in place
and the puss it’s, it’s making a log cabin
they’re waiting for peanuts
while we live our whole lives
and this, with you, is more
and with you i know my next move is blessed
––––
Violet Treadwell Hull is a painter and poet living in LA. Their work is published in The Big One, Reap Thrill, and in the upcoming issue of GRAPHITE Journal. They are currently working on engendered logic, the fear of uncovering, and authorship of collective memory with a collection of poems called “risking a little more light.”