local_library Wild Dogs

by Peter Stuhlmann

Published in Issue No. 268 ~ September, 2019

the kite a prelude to joy

king rust at play—& the third

cloud to resemble

jesus wrestling

a bedsheet today. one monster

written into her bed is the truck stop

killing of my name. clouds

stack against him

he—a jar of pickled teeth

later—gives notes from the beach ice

last spring. how like you

to ride the only kite left

in a room. the first awkward curses

mistaken for lust, & where

are the poems for smashing into

motel nightstands

on your third honeymoon? above

the golf course, three clouds

bark like wild dogs. it’s

how we all learn to speak.

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As far back as I can remember I have been obsessed with the making of images, be they in text or in paint. Largely self-taught, I happily move between the two modes of expression, such that one feeds from the other. I have had pieces published in Pif Magazine, 2River View, Rattle, Eclectica, and League of Canadian Poets Series (Vintage 2000)