Clade Song 6
Clade Song 6 Left

Clade Song 6


Send me a scaled cone
humming in that western way
something small and potential
to start a magic, or a song

To shoot a thrush or bull elk
and limp away a beast
a foundling, or limpet
to end and become and repeat

all those nodules that croak and hurt
to sum a full world
Leave me in a field grown wary
of man’s cacophony, his yellowed chemistries

Let me wither and melt like velvet
sloughing from the haggard moose
I will yelp, lilting
uncertainties and halftruths

forgotten in a melody of metal
a tonic of ships and metal
and forged entrails sunk at rest
in the harbor, muddling a reeking rust

And golden fish lamplit are hunted
down and lacerated electric
lifeless, imagined and barely verbal
in the seepage of this stone-bled altar.




Clade Song 6 Right
Kleinschmidt Seth Kleinschmidt lives in Vermont, where he makes a strange living talking about Taylor Swift on the radio. When not writing about tide pools and oak savannas, he can be found combining mint tea and King Crimson to great effect. He graduated from Brown University with a degree in literary arts in the recent past.