Glenn Taylor

Escape Artists Never Die

Original timestamp
slightly slanted--
 
the ethereal becomes
ephemeral & response
 
dyslexia permeates.
The hands are broken
 
& segmented fingers
are orange wedges,
 
muscles pulp, skin skin,
thickening. Here
 
is a fixed point that moves
on a plane, an ant wiggling.
 
Time, a line-less reel, eternal
cast & pull, weightless.
 
Try to inscribe light
with unbraided ropes--
 
use each separate strand.
You feel with soles: concrete
 
is concrete—ideas transmogrify
into solids—flight, computers,
 
wireless internet. There is
a prototype for cages still
 
unknown—who says there
are only steel bars & girders?
​

---

Wreckage

Concede the breath.
Night falls behind
the ears. It cools.
Torch the softest part
first, see how far fingers go
in, stretches. Half of the time
spent in wonderment.
She can never believe
the stove is turned off.
He can never believe
she never believes.
The missteps, a dance of
catastrophe. Strophe.
The choir enters. Antistrophe.
You are naked & watching
as your scalp snows in mounds. 


 


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Glenn Taylor is originally from Detroit, Michigan, spent a few years living in the Chicagoland area, and recently moved back to the Detroit area. He works as a technical writer and in his spare time, chases around his two-year-old who is becoming…terrible.