2 poems from Kelly Moyer

Destiny of a Dreamer

The chirologist finds ancestral traumas
within the lines of my left palm,
square in contrast to the rounded shape
of my right, which reveals many lost loves
and a capacity for dumbass decisions.
She names me the writer of fairytales,
commending me for bringing beauty
into a cruel and misguided world 
that, she assures me with a kind smile,
will see to my abrupt and untimely end. 

Enlightenment

I really don’t think I’m too trusting,
but I’m pretty sure a monk
screwed me out of twenty bucks
just this afternoon. 

I was strolling down Decatur St.
after skating in Crescent Park. 

He thrust a shiny strand of beads 
into my dusty hands 
and assured me he would pray 
that I might know peace. 

He then held out his upturned palm.

I retrieved a tattered bill 
from the bottom of my bag
and offered it to him with a bow.

“More,” he said in lieu of a blessing. 

I apologized, sincerely, for my lack 
and began to question
the very nature of my being.

It was only later that I realized
I simply should have fucked him up.



Bio:  Kelly Moyer can often be found wandering the mountains of North Carolina, where she resides with her husband and two philosopher kittens, Simone and Jean-Paul.