Author’s note: Every title is an anagram of my name (Diana S. Bolton) and the weirdness of the poems came from this admittedly goofy idea.

Boat and Loins

We fuck in the cabin,
rolling with the frothing waves.
Our sweat traces white
on skin, and now I can’t tell
if salt is ours or water’s.


Noon, Bast Laid

in shadow, black hair
shimmering. No dust bath cools
her fire. The goddess
will wait for evening to stroll
among the waiting faithful.


Alias Not Bond

Pretty things know that
my name ain’t Coyote,
but for tonight, we
all pretend. Bar smoke twirls their
hair as we drink in blue light.


Obtain Land So

your wife can salt soil
with her body. This, Lot, is
yours, and nothing will
root in her again. This place
rings with the tang in your mouth.


Natal Bid Soon

Chart days like stars, or
coming blood, life in a book
of boxes. Ink dries
as we pick and dry these herbs.
This sea change maps our new world.


Diana Smith Bolton is the founding editor of District Lit, publishing fiction, poetry, and visual art. Her work has appeared in 32 Poems, anderbo, Jet Fuel Review, elimae, Cartography from Imagination & Place Press, and elsewhere.

Photo by Lobsterthermidor ( via Wikimedia Commons.