by Kathryn Zurlo

To crush between two sheets
of plastic; to mummify for public spectacle.

Translucent jars hold ancient organs,
naked in the eye of the forgiver.

Laminated clouds could be fog,
compressed into a pocket.

Glass bluebirds could wrap themselves in owners
who dust them regularly.

Jen’s boyfriend could weld himself to her side
now that he’s knocked her up.

A candle could circumlaminate a wick
for safekeeping.

Oklahoma, for one, has an abundance of land
lamination, borders stuck on borders.

Flies can be ignorlaminated
from the sticky tongue of the frog.

Windows can be ultralaminted by air
and air.

And mirrors can laminate every life
into one poisonous apple.

A pen tries to coerce their page
into the far back seat of the hot machine.

• Welcome to Entasis.