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Layne Ransom continues to exist. She is a former poetry editor of the Bat City Review and has poetry and nonfiction published or forthcoming in North American Review, Quaint Magazine, Pinwheel, and others. Layne lives in Austin, Texas.

2 poems

by Layne Ransom



I go on flights


inside myself


wishing for a place with black deer


and snow


where I could make little soups


and every day,


put on different-colored legs


I would be a voyager


and walk below lonely structures of importance,


murmuring about axolotls


while the rain hesitates


I would fishtail the wind


into my hair


I would look from under my sea-gray hood


at everything that breathes, all of us


carrying stars in our crotches





Discontinued Thunder


Under a shadow                      I grow

ten million antlers


out of my nipples                    I witness

the annihilation of foxes


whoops              there is dust                we know

so little               we know       what


capitalist decay            the lightning


bugs face          there on the lake         a clusterfuck

of geese


they are crying             there are no prayers

left in the world


there are no church moms left

chaperoning                 the high school dance


I drink                 stuff               from a bloated

tree                     it is late


the moon has not been cleared

of asbestos

                                                                 the moon looks to me for answers


idiot                     what do I have in my hand       oh

it is a spooky                little fish                           made of wheat

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