Leveler Poetry Journal
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Her heart hung upside down and arced like a story of furry children in desperate

attire (wings, feathers, tutu, crowns of spoons). Her hair was a muscle of

pinecones and nut butter. She was not a Presbyterian, as some have debated. She

was, however, endowed with bells.


I’ve exhausted all my intuition, she said, inching along the path like lichen; in other

words, she was a tiny tot with flammable hair. The woods make me sad, she said,

and grief makes me furl along the path like a fern in a tiara.


The woods the woods the woods the woods the woods: like a human heart located

halfway between the sixth dimension and Walmart, with a wolf who was

perpendicular to all he cared about. Red said, I’ve got a plan, and the woods

stopped thumping. The two, disguised as non-smokers, fairytaled ever after.

Maureen Seaton & Neil de la Flor