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Dane Hamann

From Issue 4

Moonlight by Edvard Munch


Thee outbursts of your mind are
considered automatic & stylized


open spaces. Your hand just glides,
seeing the way night takes a lungful.


Consider this sky & shoreline,
a thin white channel of bone


dripping like wax. A cloistered
midsummer awash in a cold palette.


Maybe it’s all cloud to you, or sunset
triggered by a pushbutton moon.


It’s form unanchored. A confrontation
coming into view from the forest’s edge.


You try to plump up the scene. Boughs,
impossibly swollen, starving toothpick trees.


Your best choice was an island. A shadow
of bedrock brushed with weightless gray.


You find the fullness of such a night
too easy, so you daub it out of habit


while I choke on the heat of pre-dinner
drinks, my heart caroming inside


a perfectly sized shot glass. Pour me one
more, painter, anchor me to this shore.


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  • Home
  • About
    • Our Story
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