The summer had been talking to me Oui c’est ça.
Eggs of flame dropped
into the yard emptied
each bottle of beer.
The afternoon revolved and revolved.
Like hours like some
lowlife where has my bravery gone. Là-bas.
Dogs and sleds approach
skin across the exposure.
I pull out my revolver.
What we trust here:
Wild strawberries rattling
in my closed fist.
The shrill that reels
out of a voice
A manor floats into view inside the cloud valley
I do love exhibit splendor and its demands
what still astounds me the world and its reserve
its lack of need as in a lake and its poplars
occurring as nothing as an afternoon or sad
animals  meant to induce crying I should just
stay in this corner I mean really how hard is it
to remain quiet about what I do not yet possess.
I’m Getting Ahead of Myself
I fall asleep in a fountain
hier soir j’ai rêvé d’un loup
when I wake everyone has desire and sweeping
j’ai rêvé d’un gros loup qui avait envie de me manger
coughing up cakes because you know spring
mais il n’était pas trop mechant lui le loup
and falling in love such blue
tu sais mais tu sais d’abord
such urgency parading as vigor
il m’a dit “Up!”
you shimmer towards
et donc il m’a donné dans ma bouche tous les gâteaux
seek fat for example in my body
forgive me but I do love
mais avant que je suis tombée dans sa gorge
hanging about your person I shrug on
j’ai fait mon cou comme ça un poisson cassé
a nice dress soap my thighs
et j’ai crié
for your long waistline say of laughing say
“Désolée ma belle Bretagne! Je dois te quitter!”
down your throat.
Originally from the Pacific Northwest, Ansley Clark is now an MFA candidate at University of Colorado Boulder, where she also teaches creative writing. Her poems, essays, and reviews have appeared in Ilk, Smoking Glue Gun, B O D Y, The Volta, Spork, Nowhere Magazine, and elsewhere. Her chapbook Geography is forthcoming from dancing girl press.