By Nikki Wallschlaeger

I want to hold a cloud but it’s made of  air
a smog of   tweets makes a world go round,

the confusion of  clouds predicting a storm
think nothing of  it, bombs are natural now,

explosives wrapped in their hollowed brows
exploiting crisis and pushing the inevitable,

bluebirds know it’s a new day, they whistle
without confusion, listen, how do we speak

to light at the end of  the holographic tunnel,
my first smoking question of a new season

to begrudge feelings we once had, released,
the future reading books and understanding

tweeting, unbreathable air, and the confusion
of  so much suffering and sovereign comfort,

exploring the rites of  violence, an old feeling
publicized and burning, cyclones, heilstorms

slapping the drafts, think nothing of it, birds—
get out of  their way, the powerful are talking,

don’t breathe the confusion, sideswiped in
holographic traffic, a question for bluebirds:

if  you, dear birdsong, took away our clouds
of  feelings would anyone notice send tweet

• Living
• Social Commentaries

Poet Bio

Nikki Wallschlaeger’s is the author of the full-length collections Houses (Horseless Press, 2015) and Crawlspace (Bloof Books, 2017), as well as the graphic book I Hate Telling You How I Really Feel (Bloof Books, 2019) and an artist book Operation USA, through the Baltimore based book arts group Container (a project acquired by Woodland Pattern Book Center in Milwaukee). Her work has been featured in the Nation, Brick, American Poetry Review, Witness, Kenyon Review, and others. A recent transplant from Milwaukee, she now calls the Driftless region of Wisconsin her home. See More By This Poet

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