Donna Dallas – Page 2 – Fevers of the Mind

Wretch is Renewed Wretch knew she would make a bollocks of it Wretch knew the end when she began Wretch had a dream that she was driving fast around a treacherous cliff she veered off and as she torpedoed down she realized what an awful mess she was all the lives she complicated when she awoke she felt relieved that is was just a nightmare not her real death and she laughed with relief picked up her lighter smoked her peace to the Gods felt it wasn’t enough texted the dealer This Eve I believe in love like I believe in the afterlife or snarks and dragons No one tells the truth anymore like Mr. Hurtz at the 7-Eleven he walked in burst blood vessels exploding into each other soaked all the white of his eyes to bright lava he was hacking up a lung we asked him if he’d been tested he said it was a winter cold as he spewed phlegm all into the air like hell’s sprinkle yeah we knew I’m not gonna say I’ll finish that novel eat healthy or save more with all these commitments year after year Mr. Hurtz dead long before this eve before a new spin on an already old sickness and I hold in my hand a glass of bubbly and think I might make it through this kinetic wave I’m feeling as sober as a clam the music fills moon flirts the glow from the fireworks fades This year ain’t gonna be my faint cry for hope or sinister salvation I’m foaming at the mouth just to escape myself the minute I see an exit I blow like the spout on a whale dive under and up Ever present death – slowly kills us some sweet, some piercing we are in for the long eve death and I Give me a bloody break so I can roll on in to the new year with a fever – a non-Covid fever one to set me ablaze rekindle a life put on hold instead of a death watch Mr. Hurtz somewhere up there damn you for not paying attention but then I think we all have a death date scrawled in our palm lines…… Perhaps there really are snarks and dragons even mermaids Deadweight It’s dark here no stars no sound Every so often the rafters will creek or something scurries behind a wall if this ain’t the longest damn night without a smoke or a drink nothin but dank water - which ain’t no drink The sky keeps bullying more time to stay black hold out on morning to keep me from making any move I step with the dead on my back straight edge never cozy up to nothin I sleep without sound or movement no clock I just know the time when it is long like millennium - time is a sparrows’ death over and over in the attic where it all took place Lingers in wait for my return its’ hot breath a mosquito in my ear I’ll stay in this one spot till daybreak till the world comes back with the light Don’t want to startle in my sleep wake to someone else’s death could mean my end Havoc There’s a strip of a line withered and decayed it quivers while I jump rope and tangle myself up with all those men always at the same time with the same men I am a pro at hating the ones I’ve loved with enormous waves I surf clean and easy through them hot anger rises up and blasts me like a meteorite how could I not love being the bitch always hang by sharp fingernails on the verge of some precipice where love and hate swoon together in a funneling wind I just hang on for dear life clueless Betrayal I was eleven in our kitchen the yellow diamond ring resting next to the sink belonged to my great grandmother the heirloom removed from my mother’s finger when she washed the dishes or cleaned the house My friend asked about it as she eyed it with hunger in my own hunger for any friendship I disregarded it until later the ring missing and my friend peeled away quick the two events stabbed so deep wounds that forever warp my coffin 2 poems by Donna Dallas: “Riding Pegasus” & “No Zone-Don’t Go Zone” Bio: Donna Dallas studied creative writing and philosophy at NYU’s Gallatin School and was lucky enough to write under William Packard, founder of the New York Quarterly. She has appeared in a plethora of journals, most recently The Opiate, Beatnik Cowboy, SpillWords and Phantom Kangaroo. Donna serves on the editorial team of Red Fez and New York Quarterly.

donnaanndallas@gmail.com@DonnaDallas15

Wasn’t the Beer Here sign at the fair nor the free beer it was the circus surrounding the beer the nice carny folk invited me in Ringmaster yelled Satan said to the world I am Satan but to you I am the world here is my blood Ringmaster and I drank of it the heavy oil slid down pooled in my stomach bloated with sin I rode the Pegasus with pink and blue flowered mane I listened in awe as these show people played violins examined my palm lines told me they live on coffee and cigarette clips I longed to stay afraid I would grow horns and start to turn ringmaster’s wings clipped no one allowed to rise above him we crept at his clawed feet Riddled with the clap I crawled away in shame No Zone - Don't Go Zone I’ve drifted so far away from the shore of my very own needs I just follow the watery pull lose the course again and again paddle desperately this is my tug boat baby and I’ve got room for one more in this no-zone - the don’t-go-zone the I’ll never come back from place so alluring fresh and safe – death or hell? aren’t they both the same? Knuckles swell another bone cracks I hold us afloat with my pinky now while gravity pulls skin from bone would have been better off holding the atlas instead I chose to drag us both to shore crawl across the grainy sands of never-ary come back to shake this and dry out get footage - get better Poetry Showcase for Donna Dallas Bio: Donna Dallas studied creative writing and philosophy at NYU’s Gallatin School and was lucky enough to write under William Packard, founder of the New York Quarterly. She has appeared in a plethora of journals, most recently The Opiate, Beatnik Cowboy, SpillWords and Phantom Kangaroo. Donna serves on the editorial team of Red Fez and New York Quarterly.

@DonnaDallas15