Fox Rinne

Field Guide,
or, Evil Faggot Mindgames

What he said
you could see in the air
and when it drifted down
to pollinate, accidentally,
the avens learned of humiliation,
tasted salt, like the red starts
carrying seeds far
by consuming–
there was a truth only available
at a distance. The you-wish
of it all, his name
and what I turned him into
under my watch. Fertile seed
of rumor, eyelids
of the audience anointed
with voyeurism. I set this trap up
for all of us, I left long-exposed his body
for obedience. Cold shears
on his neck. Claims in the dirt.
What I like about you is
you are not ashamed
of what we have in common. By the end
of the season, I still
couldn’t tell the winter foliage apart
well enough to say: this
is the perennial we call Temptation,
and this one, Pastime.

Third Heaven

Light pooled

in the snow prints–

bitternut sun of winter

melting shine. Wanted the tracks

to be coyote, not dog, despite the dragging feet of domestication,

the bragging claws. Made a list of all living things without a leash, went on and on

sometimes it’s useful to hear your options aloud. Turns out you never just knuckle under once.

Third heaven of hindsight. I know. God knoweth.

I should’ve been honest from the beginning.