Dancer, Straw, and Juice Box by Hanz Olson

Joked everyday of more spoken cuts as if to sing with eyes

of bright installation, of neon wrenching toward costumed

revelry. Stumps and horns project onto rivers and smoke

soft brass crammed with exuberant trappings. There are nights

to work alone and agile with the same warped table, the one

worth any incorporation of unknown strings. Every eye-

catching piece will lace, tear and hand to the crowd bitten

abstractions, restful nocturnes, crushes of powdery lamplight,

and circles of papery beds. Complicated lives jolt what paper favors,

what stars lag, what rollerblades and smoke inject with jukebox

and shoulder pad.

Oddly Off by Hanz Olson

Spit around stark rooms to pack away darkness.

to pack away a few things into the whispers of a sea

or even a second. Mark of a tavern, mark of some snow.

some house of spontaneous jarring, of telephones

ringing, and the work still to go. From west to Milwaukee

this time with salt. There’s always what will re-ensoul those red,

white-veined leaves never stuck in dismantled jars, in beds

or whole spheres breathing over mustard seeds, over cuddle bug

arrangements, the record of which are still hidden behind their striving.

A Scratch in the Building’s History by Hanz Olson

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Photo courtesy Daniel Neeman

A Scratch in the Building’s History

A scratch in the building’s history

may reclassify the Greenland shark

under an odd but new look and ready

to set out in a small boat—man-eating

tendencies freshly beaten—similunate

tail and caudal keen—words

you can’t unpack but magically uphold

seal, squid and salmon rush. All the numbers

you will likely scour, puzzled over by

what the historic record indicates.

A Merlin-esque interdisciplinary spelunking

and the countryside of tall apartment blocks—

unique blends of the depths of the oceans—

a new age of chivalry recast in eggs, shallots,

sage, and toast. What set off against the one ajar,

against the sudden stop change navigates?