by Jules Archer

 

In that moment of collapse

when hearts or guts

fall to the floor

 

It's always something

that cloud nine kind of thing

ruby shoes and ecstasy

 

A little slice of you

bubbling up or crestfallen

judiciously so

 

On the bumpy back road

she places her hands between her legs

an itch she never knew before

 

She smiles and looks for a place to turn off

 


 

Somewhere between being born and raised in the back- woods of Montana, Jules Archer developed a craving for the written word. Today, she writes random stories of great genius and heartbreaking torpor while read- ing Playboy and sipping Blue Moon in her spare time. Jules Archer has appeared recently or is forthcoming from Metazen, Monkeybicycle, >kill author, PANK, Northville Review and elsewhere. She writes to annoy you at: http://julesjustwrite.wordpress.com

 

This poem originally appeared in issue 3.