Heir Apparent

Issue #45 April 2017

Katy Chrisler


Or else I witness, first

light, a length of shadows.

A motion set in motion, red

handed shy’s lot. Animalcule.

“Come inside the fence,”

said the dead man.

Party to a crime, n sureface

sugar tongue, “Cock

the gun” and dirt this.

Then things will be different.

The current price, hard up

hard to cut, no afternoon.

None such moment when

action stops. Tom cat,

old goat, “Nothing takes

place but the place."

A hard to cut atlas

of neural circuits

known for a house

can question the act

of looking when we

corrupt a thing. “Come

inside the fence. Cock the gun.”

Not beyond how men

move. The physics of lust

rule collision. Or else

drives any of the horses

into the thick of it. Still and all,

of what structure forms

out of step. Blood blister,

dirt, this.


To be called, named.

Don’t give a hang

hang. No, that’s not

it. That’s not how

it is. Heel bone

head. Keep the sheriff

from the door. Like

a foolproof fire

hazard. Sure, I

have one’s hands.

Turnin a threshing

machine. Head in

for share. Thunder

struck, and make out fine.

No one can attain paradise

on earth. That which cannot be

lost, gleamed. Ray beyond

the skerries, found

and come to grief.


Sound discloses cliff

like quite another matter.

A tight-lipped conflict,

the wind from still

a similar direction.

Look out the overlook.

Stakes everything dumb

founded. Can you tell me

how long it could last.

But sing or hold its importance.

Ill will isn’t arithmetic

overruled by compulsion

to touch. I bend knees.

I bow back to access

rack and ruin. Is this the

way to the beach.

Burl, a crackling amongst

the trees. This isn’t better.

This isn’t primary.

Tell me I’ll give you

what salt will stay

on the tip of a knife.


Light touch, a rivet

upon another meter of cloth.

Thicksot him to spot up

or reckon. I dust a cake with

sugar and slightly ache.

A good grounding is good

enough like landing on the moon.

Two by two, and two and two

I horn tuck beside a hidden reef.

Always on the same string, I

envy. Not to be caught in two,

in half. One after the other,

the tea is ready. Bother the mark

and clever as all that.


Across horse thief basin

I washed my feet with dirt.

Before the plateau, tenor

intent, a truck carrying

stacked sacks of onions

passed sprawling. The road

hummed. I crouched.

I, down miles and


Backwards was black.

A canyon city hefted by

patches dry and full

of feeling. I hummed.

An observable streak

of rain fell from above

but never touched

the ground around

me and I paraded on

through the solo arena

thinking of how I

would describe you

to myself.


A rooster’s legs don’t

hold up to scorn. Dig

in, cling a middling like

slang girl. The skin on

hot milk. At the milepost

he was almost crying.

Pack animal, graze,

sneer of yesteryear,

that will have to do.


Satellite city signals

a bullfinch in celebration

of the kill. Raceme sad

heart. Elucidate forcibly

so it hurts. The tree

is loaded with fruit.

Cluster’s a bull’s eye,

a witchhunt for 200 ton’s

burden. One goose,

two geese. One moose.

Rosy red underparts

pathed, bathed. A half

grain boy in a moth proof

bag proves nothing.

From now on, ninny.


Big I, little you

so punningly with letters,

so stunningly big a bug,

big ike, you important.

A boastful

man (see conqueror)

for bight. And I

suddenly jerked tight

a slack hung line.

Caught between loose,

the result of playing two

ends against the middle.

A gallon of wine, big me,

little you. He’ll want

his worth in weight

in sap saw dust soon.


Prink skinflint a tid

bit can spent, can

cause a glow. He’s awake

and used to better things.

Cut the Gordian knot

and rise. Larder a slender

hand. He nowhere. Not

another sound. There were

women then men. Eyes swimming

with blood, a fortune. Round

the room a course of events.

For a song off lightly he said

he has never seen anything.

A rout, a rucksack, a fist, a finger.

Enough trouble-maker

to his and her graves. Because

he was told, crowned and all

an idea that grass can trample.

This is a good spot for mushrooms.

More likely, his father. Mind you,

don’t forget to see reason.

A knave point blank, bright

spark, he was a good boy.

Across the bridge, cross the bridge

quarter an apple, to hour.

To lapwing nothing to speak of,

you can’t back out now.


Wasn’t quiet. Savaged

event reveals only ideal witness.

A heed to hide or to come

byway of the same direction,

I will give you. A bad year

can last as long. From now

and on still sweet to tongue,

fascinate naïveté. Listen here,

now listen. Of the same string,

I envy. A bit of thief, dropful

in sound. With what departure isn’t scolded:

  A bed made up on the floor or wood burned away with shame

You, look after the house.

Look after the children.


The last shouts died away in the night.

Half way, moon blind, minnowed

dogged in half by the inlet. A slow leak

backed by a strange woman. She has met

with an accident. Mother says hello

and thank you for the loan. Hoarfrost appears.

He’s no saint. Call on, go by, and see.

Loopless as a kind of balcony. An eye, a view to.

Could happen to anybody. Ring at the end

of a rope. Drag. A hindrance to grope

for words. Dear me, goodness on a slant.

At any rate, just as he sat praying, jammed.

Act as if nothing were the matter.


I go everyday to the river.

A domestic hen, thin resembles

a shaped ceremonial occasion.

Domestic hen, thin.

Be careful, you think

is not only for church.

Like that of a letter,

the northern constellation

of Cassiopeia tethers.

Monstrosity, there are

so many occasions. So

many feathers on the ground.

My neighbor woman wears

men's clothes like light electric

filaments. I heavy, heave

myself daily to stone.