Tupilak in Antler Velvet: A poem by Joshua Gage

By Joshua Gage


Tupilak in Antler Velvet

The hillside fire
tears its way loose
through a delicious congress
of pumpkin fragrances
beneath a razor cracking
jawbone. Birds migrating
illuminate the night black.
Alone, the shaman of autumn leaves
chants across the horizon
in smoke like the crunch
beneath your misplaced dance.
Sunnier skies,
and a siege engine of flame
calls upon familiar spirits.
Crisp wind winding until it peels
off, apple spinning,
reminding your feet
in an orchestra of iridescent flowers.

Joshua Gage is an ornery curmudgeon from Cleveland. His first full–length collection, breaths, is available from VanZeno Press. Intrinsic Night, a collaborative project he wrote with J. E. Stanley, was published by Sam’s Dot Publishing. Inhuman: Haiku from the Zombie Apocalypse, is available on Poet’s Haven Press. His newest chapbook, Necromancy, is available on Locofo Chaps from Moria Press. He is a graduate of the Low Residency MFA Program in Creative Writing at Naropa University. He has a penchant for Pendleton shirts and any poem strong enough to yank the breath out of his lungs.

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