Kristin Garth is a Pushcart & Best of the nominated poet from Pensacola and a sonnet stalker. Her sonnets have stalked magazines like Five: 2: One, Yes, Glass, Anti-Heroin Chic, Occulum, Drunk Monkeys, Luna Luna, TERSE. Journal and many more. Her chapbook Pink Plastic House is available from Maverick Duck Press, and she has another Pensacola Girls from Bone & Ink Press. She has two forthcoming: Shakespeare for Sociopaths (The Hedgehog Poetry Press Jan 2019) and Puritan U (Rhythm & Bones Press March 2019) from She also has a full length upcoming Candy Cigarette from Hedgehog Poetry in April. Follow her on Twitter: (@lolaandjolie), her weekly poetry column The Sonnetarium and her website (kristingarth.com).
is seamless, Victorian nightgown, roof
reproof, no fingers or electric sounds
when it’s affixed, lightless chandeliers, proof
of fealty, microscopic tears. Hound
haunts fears, your plate glass tabletop front lawn,
barks at shadows, windows, doors while the , hand
is gone. Perimeter once stood upon
with plastic hedge, inch edge to tile crash land
or Dalmatian whose lunging signal, teeth
remands in silent walls without a back
turntable, aerial attack. Relief
the latter, only friend, through shingles black
the five descend desiring fingerplay.
His fingertips are all you’ll hear today.
His Music Box Breathes Depeche Mode
a hollowed set design inside dollhouse
ballroom. Five fingers lead. Wallpapered flats,
black bloomed, encircle stage. Gossamer flounce,
gray ballet skirt, a plié romance danced,
piano wound by fingertips, Behind the Wheel
tuned teeth play Maxence Cyrin. Planet eyes,
constellations, melt, stratosphere surreal
inconstant asteroid belt, light devised
stings limbs like lust. A moonbeam pas de deux,
move as you must, his passenger. Fouettés,
regrets, releasing whim, each orbit you
spin closer to him for God the father
created little girl and universe;
his music box breathes, and you will rehearse.