O. Hunt’s Bloodless Coup Realized

Banks,
are no longer robbed by strangers
from outside,
while dressed as nuns,
or in masks of dead presidents.

Capers and getaway cars
are now online auction items,
resold at garage sales;

round yellow stickers peeling up
price negotiable
in St. Louis.

All is
bloodless
between jumps.

Thus,

all
reshaped forms,
re-invested with
compulsory
blood and marrow,
dream of
bloodless coups,

a mimetic
teleportation
experience.

Paschal Lambs,
my friends,
forget them where they lie.

They lie!

For,
you don’t need a monocle
to see

banks are robbed
from on high.

And all things with
positive potential
have an equal
base appeal.

O. Hunt
runs a small daycare
in Boise, Idaho.

This is the

feedback

from the aether.

Picture it:



Ofelia Hunt
floating in white wispy dress
caring for toddlers.

Only true,
one wonders,
in a devilish profile blurb
at Bear Parade.

And yet,
why not?

A false statement,
if ever one was read in the light,
reveals more than it conceals.

Or,
a true statement,
read with a false heart…

Oh, I never wonder anymore —

In St. Louis,
there’s a Safeway store
with perfectly parked
little Hondas

Or,
in this case,
Boise, Idaho.

And the perfectly parked
Honda
is
Ofelia’s.

“Because one baby is like any other baby”.

Right?

And babies
are most
important
before they’re
born.

For after,
mother’s talk about
werewolves and
bear traps
on
cell-phones

while polishing their
peg-legs.

And those babies
move from the
Rockies

to
Portland

just to find…

and in find-

ing

loose-

ing

them-
selves

in backwater
river dells
of aether and
words,

until fear
stops
them in

Time.

In time
to type
in jest
the magic

unraveling,
smirk adorned,

phrase

“runs a small
daycare
in Boise, Idaho.”

Then the jest

jumps

find-

ing

its selfsame
photon
in Boise,

and leaving an
empty version of
O. Hunt

for me

in the bounds of
her image
frame.