presenting jane

your figures behave like things blown by fans. faces

falling or rising. colors parting without echo. teasing

the long louche game like this big deal buick in the yard.

a spin on god’s teeth. closely captioned in lightfastness

without fill. the soundtrack could be satie that hugs

the home movie mugging of an invented school: boat

house boys. sly eyes over a lattice. a camp version

of the ballet mécanique noting ephemeral orders:

the main pile. interlocking masses. wings. pilasters

in the french manner. to reach other apprehensions:

surfactants plumbing the tension of future shell

games that blend oddnesses inside fragile reels.

you fake hating fruit. tear pages from a book. while

outtake lips, too lax to grip smoke, indicate action,

or wouldn’t make these silly shapes that could imply

surnames. a cadastral map. or slips of other bon mots

from the stack limit two high easing lifting from the top.

time floats with sparkling wit or is ankle deep in muck.

you force perspective over the wet horizon. negate

symmetry: opposite sides are parallel and some are

not from those in which none are. the past is seen

by oblique regarding. baroque effects with each failed

pediment. until staging rises with whimsy to tie stories.

so splendor might stand. so higher apertures prevail.

Ken Taylor lives in Chicago and is the author of eight published works and three plays. His most recent books are found poem(s) with Ed Roberson (Corbett vs. Dempsey, 2024), featuring photography by Ken and poems by Ed, and 57 wyomings (Black Square Editions, 2026). He is the founding editor and publisher of selva oscura press.