Mm!

So, one of those gray paintings
you look at and see other colors vibrating,

and shapes decide to surface and shift within
the limits of the frame. Oh, one of those

shifted paintings where you can definitely see
red horses with rad dudes riding up a huge

gently sloping hill of grass, and the sky is
preset with, you know, like, “red weather.”

Mm!, and anywho the horse dudes stop
halfway up and dismount and lay on their stomachs,

oh and they put their hands out, fingers splayed,
palms down, and, you can see, the guys just sort of

dissolve into the grass, and the horses kind of break
into rounded hunks that hover and roll in the waving

air painted onto the painting. Yes! It’s one of those
fatal paintings—you lose your sight, you drive home

unbelievably safely, you never speak again,
and it’s not a vow thing, and your ears ring.

Daniel D’Angelo’s poetry has appeared in The Collagist, H-ngm-n, Alice Blue, Dreginald, and elsewhere. He grew up in eastern Iowa and now lives and works in Washington, D.C. You can reach him at da.dangelo19@gmail.com