Foolish breakfast

A poem by Wilna Panagos

A tree full of goats.
The treasure lights of a valley city.
A dog barking into the dark.
What dream of yours is this, exalted verse? Asks Goethe, and the oblivious magician says: I’m so tired of waiting.
I’m so full of secrets.
Caution dog and whispering figs and Narcissus poeticus. Double daffodil.
Stick library.
A tiny tiny pavement fire by Pyro’s ghost, and Death with a French horn hanging from his hand, me, with shells in my ears.
The difference between the appearance of an object and its apparition, says Duchamp and Jillian Steinhauer says: What we allow ourselves to see in the darkness. The being of our sentences, says John Ashbery. The sadness of a man carrying his dead dog home, thinks George. Berm, she thinks. A flat strip of land, raised bank, or terrace bordering a river or canal. A path or grass strip beside a road. An artificial ridge or embankment, such as one built as a defence against tanks.
Those who throw objects at the crocodiles will be asked to retrieve them and, Please Don’t Kick The Inventory Bot.
Readymade poetry.
Hummingbird mint.

The heartbeat on your table.

Wilna Panagos’ work has appeared or is forthcoming in New Contrast Literary Journal, Gone Lawn, Otoliths, Museum Life,  three Medusa’s Laugh Press anthologies, Prick of the Spindle, The Undertow Review, Ditch Poetry, Psychopomp Magazine, Altpoetics, Hobo Camp Review, Sparks of Consciousness, Beetroot Journal, Clockwise Cat, Angry Old Man, E-ratio. Long ago she wrote and illustrated a few children’s books and more recently something which may be described as a nouvelle vague transmogrification of The Divine Comedy, a postmodern experimental polyphonic florilegious pastiche. The Circular Narrative is still unpublished. Wilna, or George, lives in Pretoria, South Africa.
Her Facebook alter ego is here:

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