Kris Falcon πŸ”ˆ

Read in landscape mode!

For the Scrawler of the Note Own It

These are not real stars in my pocket,
though with those days between piece and fold
gone, I thank whatever keeps me from
merely floating on surfaces. A position

I slept in left no mark. Only possessions in bold
can be spotted in this space. Stakes risen higher than
mine: jackstone, glitter shadow, Pan Am tote,
dreamcatcher pendant, powder-blue Wedgewood –

I might be there again. Landed feeling full of pines
once, in front of an ocean. I wrote right away –
almost totems also framed every cranny
I squatted by. An Our Lady encased in a meter,

Barbie sitting on a wooden pony like
a diving ledge. Bananas swing on a minibus
until I hear the dunes before waves, and a likely
story is no hard alts will happen for a while.

Author Reading

About the Author

Kris Falcon’s second poetry collection, some blue, a little spur, was recently published by UnCollected Press. Her poems may be found or will appear in The Hong Kong Review, Great River Review, Atlanta Review, SMEOP, Gulf Stream Magazine, and elsewhere. She received her MFA from the School of the Art Institute of Chicago.