The scene was set in the gallery on Starr Street. A security guard near the delicate trees. Some dripping a kind of glue, if you look very closely. And the sawdust side roads that lead to the candy blue country houses. I’m glad I am away from home. Where I would open old screens and put books in my cart. Reaching the edge of the Plaster of Paris and watching the freeze of the Acrylic River. There is snow falling now. The room smells like popped ice. I can see a future in front of me. I can imagine a sun, in timelapse, rolling over the model place. In the tiny corners, such detail: discarded, enormous sunflower seed shells.

For orders, please write to : meadowlair@gmail.com thank u

**FORTHCOMING 2023-24: ML004 "The Vegas Layer Manuscript"

and ML005 "Landscapes Where the Sound Isn't On" - film color photos

Parachutes to Reality

No one could get the time right. Not then, not now, not with the official birth certificate, nor without. This complicated the remainder of life, immensely.

Gone were the days of cross-sectional analysis, amethyst mountain zoos, and railway scarecrow pockets. Shirley’s birth was astrologically aligned with two notable figures, the business mogul, Richard California Almonds, and the notorious outlaw, Leatherface Mush. The particular year was notable for one thing and one thing only: It was the year real estate mogul Harry Deal jumped out of a plane, and his parachute didn’t open.

Mr. Deal came from a long line of parachute manufacturers, namely the well-reputed company Destiny Glaze, a company that emerged after lawsuits filed against Reliant (pronounced Rel-eee-auhnt), the company that killed Mr. Deal. They had lived under King Decadahedron in the Blatvatskian Alps, where a great grandfather, Earl of Wingtipped Shoes, was inventor for the Royal Family—the Royal Family that became wealthy off profits from the tiny swords that go into finger sandwiches. It was all of a piece, in a way, when one considers that the luck of the stars changes not with the weep of birth’s celestial violins, but with the freshness of the medical gloves one lands in when they plunge from a deep, dark, human center.

**OUT NOW** ML 003 - DUCK, SUCCOR poems and odds & ends by hans f. wagner

Taxidermy

The back side is
another world.
In this world, the front
rests, looking for a way back.

ML 002 - Bored Lords in Bantam Air Balloons new poems by hans f. wagner

Exhumed Stars

Alfred Hitchcock was found with
Houdini’s stomach
Marilyn Monroe was found
in a perfume of whitecaps
Bela Lugosi was found with
the bends
Kobe Bryant was found with
a way back in
Geronimo was found with
a maple leaf on a chain
Carl Sagan was found with
new findings
Borges was found with
Wet Naps
Philip Lamantia was found with
spiral shoes
Billy the Kid was found with
an ultralight backpacking tent
Thomas Jefferson was found with
Please Kill Me
Carl Linnaeus was found
inside a snowman
Eric Dolphy was not found
Amelia Earhart was found
trying to write poetry.

The Corner of the House Too High in the Sky

Shattered onion doesn’t really happen, but that could describe the sun.

Any Imposter Will Do

                                                                                                      At a distance of 100 yards
                                                                                                      Elvis
                                                                                                      without a microphone
                                                                                                    looks much like anyone else,
                                                                                                        except sideburned.

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