r o b y n a r t

r o b y n a r t
	You and Me at the Hinterlands Corral Notes About His Hands Four Treatments

You and Me at the Hinterlands Corral

First imagine water, the scene where all
this is happening, we were lounging on the pagoda

where waiters were serving drinks, no,
we’re at the Tri-county fairgrounds ogling your first-place steer

and reddish mud is gathering on your wingtips or slingback heels,
no, it’s only your skin that’s white and red is what’s

coming out because we’re slumped forward in the totaled Saab
that's somehow wrapped around the elm, wait,

it’s the chicken evisceration plant and we’re ankle-deep
in blood because a third-generation gizzard-splitter

has suddenly opened fire, someone is yelling, Christ, Linda, not
this again or Tom, don’t leave me, I can’t

live without you, etc., we borrowed time, stole time,
no, we bought it on the installment plan, you were the end, no,

the means, no, the gutted deer swaddled to the hood,
there was a hailstorm full-force when we finally

reached the highway, no, it was scattered heavy shelling
outside the bunker all night, you were at the other

shore where none of this was happening, no, you
were the wind-torn island I had to die

to reach.

Notes About His Hands
	Amorous: hot breath, the bra unfastened, skin like a nest of thorns, scent of wood smoke, milk, a tussle of decomposing leaves Savage: did not attend the termination Redundant: the couch, the beer Savage: this won’t hurt a bit Amorous: the bodies of women on trains Redundant: don’t ask me again Savage: hot breath, the bra refastened, skin like a nest of thorns, rain, the shape of water Remorseful: the flowers, the beer Remorseful: Yours, Truly & Redundant: the leaves are back on the trees
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Four Treatments
	Sky like an unlanced boil. Eyes like broken glass. Beyond the abandoned glove factory, the gray and immeasurable river. A shiver in her voice. Hair like dead leaves. The moon a balled-up fist. Mauled years burned down to the roach. * Sky an abandoned gray. Eyes like fields of scabby ice. Beyond the mauled hillside, the smokeless and immeasurable burning. A roach in her voice. Hair like a shiver the dead leave. The moon an unlanced boil. Years a river of balled-up fists. * Sky a mauled and immeasurable face. Eyes like balled-up leaves. Beyond the fields of scabby ice, the river swollen like an unlanced boil. Voice like a balled-up fist. In her hair, broken glass. Moon like a burned-down roach. Years a glove of hillside ice. * Sky an abandoned river. Eyes like unlanced boils. Beyond the glove of scabby fields, the hillside’s burned and swollen face. Voice like a broken shiver. Hair a balled-up gray. Moon a year of broken glass. The mauled, immeasurable burning.
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ROBYN ART’s recent poems have appeared in Slope, The Hat, Conduit, Slipstream, Gulf Coast, The New Delta Review, La Petite Zine, Tarpaulin Sky, Wicked Alice, The Burnside Review, and canwehaveourballback. She has been nominated four times for the Pushcart Prize, received Finalist honors in 2003, and has received grants from the Vermont Studio Center and the Jentel Arts Foundation. She is the author of the poetry manuscript, The Stunt Double In Winter, which was selected as a Finalist for the 2004 Kore Press First Book Award and the 2005 Sawtooth Poetry Prize. Her chapbook, Degrees of Being There, was released by Boneworld Press in May 2003. A second chapbook, No Longer A Blonde, is forthcoming from Boneworld Press in 2006. Her book-length poem, Vestigial Portions of the Dead Sea Scrolls, will be published in 2006 by Dancing Girl Press as part of a limited-edition chapbook series.