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Grey Sparrow Journal and Press, as of January 31, 2018 will move to

Issue 30, July 31, 2017
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Captivated by Myself and Other Foes


Drop by drip by drop

the children’s runny noses

cramp my style,

my photo ops crumble.

My handbags mirror my pedigree,

the real me. Not these.


Grass grows over tires, the quick fox jumps something something someone learned once, the rhino talks big money and something has to give. For my birthday? Thanks for asking: weather patterns, plaster casts of my arches, and a magic soda machine that never stops giving, a sweet cash cow.


I’m fresh from the factory with the middleman cut out. I’m the feast without the food. I’m the want want want. My minty fresh face is a frontier town, the stories they tell about it. Call it puppy love if you like, but I’m next in line for an extended product line.



A worm grows into a monster.

A rock becomes an egg.

A dragon becomes a drunken dragon, a rocking boat.

A magic formula, the waterfall flows up.

Surprise! An uninvited guest, yes, but you’re glad I’ve come.



My lists don’t really change, the vegetable peelings around

me just grow and shrink. All the darling girls with their beaded headdresses

shake and shimmy, talk about real gigs, paint their lips, move

their hips. I call out garbage day! Again? they say. Okay,

gather all your cabbages and throw them away,

Rake the peelings into bags and pitch them,

They wear silk dressing gowns to the curb.

Race cars pick them up for dates.

They dress in checks and flower prints for the races.

If they win then great, if not, oh well.



May the actors all be different at your entrance and your exit.

Once head first, once feet first. A warm blanket, a quiet hum.

Surprise! Surprise! a funny dream, a funny tome.



Sick dog doesn’t know to shit or lay in the shade.

Watching a speech on tv, the captive keeps abreast,

This is not to give her a window out, but a lesson on

The remote control.



Read about the Mississippi my whole life. See it cutting New Orleans up.

Read about Central Park and then wham! There it is.

Reading always about death and dying.

I also like to read floor plans, the lighter lines where windows are.

                                                                              -Anne Moore Odell