Two Poems by Peter Milne Greiner

The Jogging

The sharpie is mightier than our maybe
otherwise uninhabited galaxy
that like low but levitating fruit
snail mails my TV
news of dated acts of alien violence
If I connect the dots of every cool city in Canada
my fuchsia shoes will walk its eastern seaboard
all the way to the Styx’s fertile delta
where I will unite against all odds
two things that make no sense together
My friend the druid records plants growing like Björk
in an anechoic chamber
It’s a posture similarly, like ceremonial face paint,
like punk, like liking autumn
Sweet human sausage rises on Easter Island
to face a seawind of toddlers’ breath
when you know me by the trail of sweet and sour
blood I leave behind in your bed every time
Fossil hidden water quenches my grateful death
except when I’m drafting lyrics on Tumblr
and any sound I hear that is not Enya
when Enya is playing
defaces Enya and defiles our love


A Dedication Theory For Sekou Sundiata

I go to the radio
interview and there
are lots of people there
I tell them this is called ‘Will
Actuates Fate’ but it used
to be called ‘Long Gone
From Flagplanting’ but I changed
it because in an albeit pretty
obscure way I thought
that was derivative
I tell them this didn’t
make it into the book but
it has sentimental value
because once someone
important to me thought
it was funny and singular
I am careful to make
the distinction that it’s not
addressed to that someone,
but to someone else, someone
who does not exist
but who has two hands, ten
fingers and that in it
I address the cuticle militia
I thought that felicitous
I tell the militia that I have
tracked it from the neck down
through red pine (I was fond
of conifers) to the bicep
(I prefer the yew now)
and through some unspecified
risk’s capacity for memory
Whatever that means
Risk’s descriptor implied
convalescence or tampering
I admit my ineptness
when it comes to controlling
weather, the seasons and so
on, telekinetically
I liken the possibility of doing
so to stop-action animation
I imply an Earth suitably
habitable for a clinical
form of sadness
I hint at a dark art
and a scandalous relationship
with details
I call the human mouth a caldera
upholstered with muddy pools of ska
These days I’d be more specific
I liken whatever music
it is or might be to blood
I use three disparate and
hyphenated words to stress a sense
of hybridity
Do the same thing again
Do the same thing for seven years
Close with a syntactically
problematic and purposefully
transparent euphemism
that sounds catchy at the time
Something about the color pink,
a number greater than one
but less than twenty,
and an old type of gun,
musket or arquebus
Toward the end I press
the space bar five times
or pause significantly
to indicate the end of the sentence
and the beginning of a new one
and make a bold and mysterious
One grows attached in this way
gradually over time to these
things, so even though
it’s not very good I still
like it, I say to them, opening
my mouth to explain


Peter Milne Greiner Peter Milne Greiner

Peter Milne Greiner's poems, science fiction, and essays have appeared in OMNI Reboot, Fence, H_NGM_N, The Operating System, Diner Journal, and elsewhere. He is the author of the chapbook Executive Producer Chris Carter and blogs at

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  • Mary Talmi

    wonderful, Peter…your poems are like dance and painting rolled into one

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