k i m    s t o l l

from Animal/Not Animal


Body Like a Plow/Startled Easy

A Prize Stallion Indeed

Body Like a Plow/Startled Easy


Birds hum an infestation
around antlers gashing

meat-thick shoulder,
fat, muscle tissue—itís all

birds, birds, birds—
the sky gun metal and heavy.

Birds underfoot, birds on trampled
pine and upturned moss.

I want to thrash my hoof
against your bowing head.

Gallop into the middle distance,
flies burrow in your glossy

wounds—antlers like a prayer.


A Prize Stallion Indeed


A horse maimed by
a cactus (a horse crippler).
I am a crippled horse.
All the plants pincushions,
fishhooks, and spines. Your spine
like a pincushion. Your ribbed
torso accordion-expands,
swelling with the rain.

You find a pelvic bone
skewered on a flag pole.

You find yourself as buffalo
grunting through a landfill,
knees weakening into
the too-dark earth.


KIM STOLL grew up along the muddy banks of the Perkiomen Creek in Collegeville, Pennsylvania. She is currently pursuing an MFA degree in poetry at the University of Arizona. In the hot, bright southwest, she waits until the moon is full and the air is crisp to wander off into the desert wilderness, in search of she's not sure what.

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