Poetry by evelyn bauer

as Sensationism

devour glut & gormandize something flavorless & grey

the ocelots have been franchised & now serve a

variety of lukewarm blueberry muffins at every train station just

locate painted cardboard & dig through it until you find the

collection of films I left you

along with all sorts of unintelligible dogeared notes

the hotel clerk organizes hundreds of

mints deep into the night endlessly

creating and decreating

tell the dust motes in the corner a crone’s wise sayings

it is 90 degrees out in january but

still the jackets remain frigid & ooze moisture

a wong kar-wai washcloth someone in the kitchen

is making stuffing in dim light as candles lactate tallow

climbing petunias grasp the wall

short-lived perennial tarantulas twisted

over each other in blooms remember some

finer things in life dark chocolate comforters filled with

feathers the smell of sage after a spring rain &

even more flippant feelings and sensations

another easter passes discounted bunny plushies

line pharmacy aisles little marshmallow chicks

would not last long outside amid the wilderness

blown away by monsoon getting old & stale until finally a fox feasts


maybe it’s best never to cross the tupperware edge

remain in light near the closet stuffed with flannel that goes un-worn

daily injections insulin or other & a weekly habit of perusing

muscular bodies in a corporate gym face blank

one lone cloud in the sky is dwarfed

by the others towering in the distance

wandering unbounded alleyways smell of mushroom

or mildewy wood carpet &

curtains all of a sudden the image of a bearded man

in a sauna cautiously tonguing wet soft cheese

crumbling pallets the ancient memory of smithing & brickmaking

smoking loose cigarettes from a plastic bag very french

look we all have our own psychoactive preferences mine are

listed on a series of bookmarks kept in various coat pockets

or other disorganized storage systems

damaged desks folders shelves bins

everything is mortal in a way cloth legumes

et al the cream has soured & still we mix it into the pot dotted with herbs

at least some endings have been foreshadowed

a beaming flash flitting through trees & tumbling downwards

head first head light diffused sinking to the bottom of the river

engine as anchor

more diced shallots grown in distant soil low clay low silt sprinkle them into hot butter

some granulated salt some pepper & lemon juice

let’s move onwards & not be married to the darker images

nobody knows what will happen maybe my father shoots a

muskrat with an air rifle as a young boy it’s only sensible to let

the maelstrom pass not much to be done about it

or at least that’s what everyone says

oy gevalt

after the rains seeds outside germinate

beans tomatoes squashes & more consider the gerbil

a hedgehog’s soft soliloquy

in the salt marshes the smell of

battered oysters & lemon linger like an oil slick

and the sunset is beautiful all pink & orange

& gentle on the senses like the smell of leather or well textured buttons

it’s well fleshed out this singular memento

nestled in a wooden burgundy-stained box

such a small piece does so well at holding memories

of cobblestone roads between

leaning walls from atop of which mothers chastise

hidden or invisible children

someone else’s memories not mine seen

through this relic as window as memento

the smell of tea brewing the feeling of crisp collars & chafed necks unforgotten

evelyn bauer

Twitter: @neo_cubist
Bluesky: @trve-evie.bsky.social

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