DAVID KUTZ-MARKSViolin Playing Herself in a Mirror
Then you had to have a candelabrum for a head with the flames blown in different directions so you could mimic the men burning down at the end of the alley and on down the alley and so on so that you could keep on with your “going” though you were not “going” anywhere-- somehow she floats like a pear diorama, horizontal image of a woman or a man grinding on herself with one limb sadness that she grinds out so happily, having given up on playing happy songs then you had to have a candelabrum for a head with the flames blown in different directions burning its image back into the lens of the brother who threw his coat over the chair like a shadow and walked off some months later with his shadow intact. Did I say so? No, but you sort of indicated that the men were at the end of their lives in a blacked-out valley and whatever would happen had happened before in a more perfect way. Somehow she floats like a pear diorama, horizontal image of a woman or a man rubbing the rosin all over her bars like a longarm or another slippery prisoner trying to open the world in a simple political way-- ibid but this time she says I am the git pulling fish from the tarn I don’t want. I am the eyeball without any iris. 125 The Paris-American 
David Kutz-Marks holds degrees from Columbia University and the University of Chicago and teaches at the University of Scranton. Recent poems appear or are forthcoming in Boston Review, Meridian, Kenyon Review Online, Caketrain, Rattle, The Carolina Quarterly, Silk Road Review, Western Humanities Review, Another Chicago Magazine, Verse Daily, and others. He reads for Drunken Boat.
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Next week's poet:
Joanna C. Valente 
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