Volume 10 (Fall 2015)

Kyle Churney



San Fernando



Film


like heaven, permits no souls

of sinning men—


his spot-lit torso a piston, gleaming,


                                   be-


headed by the camera's frame.


Whose gloved hand was it

reached in my throat, hefting my spirit from the cypress roots


                        of my lungs?


I dream I'm holding a pistol

I can't put down.



                     When I finish—


I'm forgotten,


                    the squall that watered

what glistens in sunlight.


                           Sodden jacaranda petals.


My partner waits

for her purple lids to be toweled.



                          San Fernando:


When you give me two lemons

gusting over the lot, I make them into

                                                           testicles—


You change my mind. Your sky


the clean blue flame

of a stranger's eyes.




Mosaic Christ



Raised trumpet bell, the halo warbles his carnal form.


The firmament's pixels flake, raining on the cathedral steps


Like bottles hoodlums would hit with bats, ski-masked


Outside the gay discotheque, hefting & wielding the holy


For a god who speaks with shards of heaven.




Kyle Churney's poems appear in The Journal, Salt Hill, and other publications. A recipient of a Literary Award from the Illinois Arts Council and a fellowship from the MacDowell Colony, his nonfiction appears in the Chicago Tribune Printers Row Journal. He lives in Chicago.