Ariane Jaccarini

Aural inkblot, a garbling, a barking dog and a creature feature, a bird call and the rumble and timbre of

a Spanish guitar (holding), the shuffling of a deck of cards or typing really fast with hands like water, a

mournful whistle.

If you try to call for the steppe coyote, you waste your voice. You waste your soft, plaintive noise. He

has to drag you up a hill while you sleep, then gently extend to you a slobbery artefact. A gift from the

mouth of the coyote means that you’re in it for the long haul.

“A spiralling painting, a bronze sculpture, a marble fountain with a golden orb at its centre.” Before

you start decorating your new home make sure you update your address with UPS.

An oneiric viewfinder out of fever eats transistor TVs spews out creases in linen turns San Francisco

into Foltýn’s Košice.

Can you still feel the hot animal breath massaging your face? I can.

Victorville Ashland Cary San Diego Eatonton Ashland

The orchestra sings for the porcelain puppet and a dusty lemon sits at the witness stand that soon

turns into bedsheets and rope sausage. I am warm and troubled by a rash shaped like sheet music that

covers my small back. In dizzy bliss we see mirrors in the stars so we look for ourselves in the scatter

points the flocks the chatter the singsong. A contiguous hum. A banshee shrieks in feedback loop.

If you call this number you might swallow a magnet.

A coiled wafer (Corinthian) flogs an agitating mare and somewhere in the distance a church bell

crackles and hisses.

Proliferation. The road dips ahead. Hit the booster coil before the flywheel loses all its impetus.