This piece is featured in Issue No. 5 Flirt


Con Fantasia \\ Anyone Can Find the Dirt in Someone \\ Love Is a Place but You Cannot Live There

Con Fantasia

I am in 
love with her,
and there is none 
but your silhouette to 
tell of tinnitus turned
to a chorus of bells,
of my blood become 
soap—cut me open,
I iridesce, organs frosted 
with a froth of pearly cream.

I am bubbling, a drifting
skybound ring, hollowed to 
a sparrow’s skull, doubling 
as an offered cup.

Stranger, you must 
hold me up, lest I alight 
on false and fragrant 
cypress with its cochlea 
of years to hear me
declare what I would 
do with world and time.
Swear me not a liar
though a stroke 
of her mislaid 
finger could so 
easily make 
me sing.

Anyone Can Find the Dirt in Someone

In the beginning was the word
and the word was dirt and dirt was god.

Blowing & Glowing

Palms up, eyes open, knees down. 
Drop the shoulders and relax the jaw.
I recite the ritual, make sure I am ready, 
prayed up and available. Even if you love it, 
I hear, it can still feel like work. I am 
consecrated to the exertion. Everybody 
wants to come to the party, but I will be 
the one who sticks around for the mess.

I have seen the smut in your eye
but it could have been in mine.

Restless Love 

Rise like an acorn, ready to become
the oak. You are thick wood growing
in the warm aura of a sunlit day. 
Occupy spaces fully. Twine into them
and use them to twine into others. 
The love we are given is not meant 
to be held onto, it is meant to spill. 
Stay inspired, grinding skyward. 
Do it again. 

The skies declare your glory and 
proclaim the work of your hands.

Heavenly Consort

Discovered my nakedness, took a reward 
on every cornfloor. Played the harlot, but 
could not be satisfied. The right instrument 
makes all the difference. I have drawn every 
line of you and called it love, perfumed my 
bed with myrrh, aloe, and cinnamon. What will 
you give me? Blow upon my garden and eat 
the pleasant fruits. Let us take our fill until 
the morning. Great things come, naked and 
barefoot. Honest to god, I can’t wait. 

Love Is a Place but You Cannot Live There

I came here to be in love with you,
but I am caught up in awe of the sea. 
I have even forgotten the waning white 
light I used to worship in the dark. 
My cheap running shoes are nearly worn 
through from climbing down to the
beach every morning, afternoon, evening.
I am quick and clumsy and would 
happily give myself up on these rocks,
rushing out to meet the ocean. 
I stand on the edge of the shore and
stretch out my hand and the huge, shy 
waves rise a little higher toward me
to lick at my fingers. My love is as 
beautiful and deadly as the moon,
but so much closer.

Jade Wallace

Jade Wallace

Jade Wallace’s poetry and fiction have appeared in Canadian Literature, This Magazine, Hermine Annual, and elsewhere. Their most recent chapbooks are A Barely Concealed Design (Puddles of Sky Press, 2020) and A Trip to the ZZOO (Collusion Books, 2020) under the moniker MA|DE. Stay in touch: