Two Poems
Sean Kilpatrick

Emulous Gander Crates Her Body Still

the gantry slope
of faces gown
her waist like battleship

her fingers
wet with trying

a breath
on crutches
goes with her

toward life or
more indignant

The Girl Made of Tiny Violins

(Calling Ellen
Through a flock of wind-up teeth
They will carry her home to me
I will extract her tenderly
From their plastic throats
And stitch her back together

First the moon wet strings of her arm
Because I always need her help
Then the pale slick rest
But I am guilty and so
Would start chewing all over again)