PROSE POETRY
MICHAEL PFEIFER
NOTHING TO SAY
I have nothing to say and so, of course, my mind races off to find the storm that is kept in a drawer and written on a piece of plain paper. With nothing to say, I can easily bend to kiss your lips and find that a blue spring spins up from within you. With nothing to say, I can tell you that three birds flew overhead as an omen of something, but they disappeared over the line of trees before the pilgrims could light the incense that would spell out the portent. With nothing to say, I am free to mention the tortoise of my slow beating heart or the rope of her sex that Rapunzel let down. With nothing to say, I can look into a mirror and see the dark accidents in my own eyes.
Michael Pfeifer lives in St. Louis, MO. He earned a Bachelor’s degree from the University of Missouri School of Journalism and returned for an M.A. in English, studying poetry with Larry Levis. After a stint as a computer typographer and a college instructor, he was accepted into the University of Iowa’s Writer’s Workshop, earning an M.F.A. and studying with Donald Justice, Marvin Bell, Henry Carlile and Sandra McPherson. He writes as an involuntary response to an opaque world.
