by Alexandra Lunn-Greep
Printed With Ibex
I don’t even mind that you reheat your tea;
there’s a whole Tiking tribunal that has no idea what Turtle Wax smells like.
Meanwhile, you. In your male cronedom, sipping social morsels on old sin frontiers,
divine and depraved, spiked like the highway trash made the sole province of the taken.
These somnambulists and sparrowhawks,
they want you to lease their filter-feeding affections for the day
–lactic and lazy–
like teen tearaways.
Completely unaware (as they picket and pine for today’s “nonconformist” natural law) of just how unrenovated they are in their own implicit lockstep.
More front than Harrods.
Italian plonk is precautionary medicine to many, I’m told.
Not as demotic as detonation trading in mythology–never half so bold.
Then me, with my radiused fretboard, wending to the will of the wood.
I’d rather drink the runnels of pastel sherbet off my own chin,
taking the Turing bite in rock pools like Anaglypta wallpaper.
Small-batch vinegar flying the banner of laminar flow–
—LIP LOGO of a shrew.
An ocean archivist sidestepping your elephant cull.
I care not a fig for your transatlantic slander.
All argots are eventually dispossessed.
I’ve always been in the biological business of permanence alone and
you can watch as my vermillion burst outlasts your every accelerando.
Girls like me are meteorological conditions and harlequin geometry.
Pristine comets, pajama sharks.
The syrup in the sermon is my own eponymous thunder.
Rest assured, your ears couldn’t earn it given ten lifetimes of nothing but explicit instructions.
Take your animal panic and your hippie heroes too.
Take your assegai and your holographic tracksuits.
I’ll keep the omnichord in my wave garden any day and every way,
getting fiber-optic goosebumps in places unknown to you
–or any of your kind.
Dana Miller is a wicked wordsmith, giggling provocateuse, and mega-melomaniac from Atlanta, Georgia. Her poetic syllables like to trundle in the wilds—usually in search of a smackerel or two. On their way, they have found themselves featured in Postscript Magazine, Better Than Starbucks, Fairy Piece, and Nauseated Drive. When not wielding a lethal pen, Dana adores surf culture, Australian grunge rockers, muscle cars, Epiphone guitars, glitter, Doc Martens, and medieval-looking draft horses with feathered feet. Oxford, England is her spirit-home and Radiohead is holding the last shard of her girlhood heart.
Alexandra Lunn-Greep: Alongside taking photographs (as a complete amateur) Alexandra thoroughly thrives and grows immersing herself in nature, music, painting, gardening, dancing, writing and singing. In this present moment, she is a dedicated full time single mum of twins Gem and Ini who will be turning seven soon. She is beautifully supported by her family and friends, and works part time as a Forest School Leader. After living and working in Europe from 2010-2016, a spiritual awakening and self-evolution started and only continued since then. She speaks basic Spanish and Dutch and loves to travel with her children.