Best Of

Man in the moon,
do I talk about your sphere—
the homeward road,
acres made of hair and mud,

the girl round,
a bitter snowflake
in the library garden?

Before he goes,
the moon is full,
made of flashlights and films

in this little yard.
Please be there
in the picture house.

Now the doors are closed.

Machines of every
shape and size hold hands.
A love lumbers through

sheets of summer.
The mountain’s eyes
sparkle like a different

lazy stream.
The papers want to know
the woman hot with worry.

The prayers were small
mansions, cold and gray.

Rest up,
sit in silence,
slip out again tonight.

You fly,
tossed in slumber
upon a hill
of was and when.

The test
books were found,
branches to sky,
hooked to silver,
hung up on romancing.

Tethered to the logic
on the wall.
I put a peephole in
behind a million eyes
of sweet talking night.

It’s stalking time.

Don’t think you knew
in fleeting hours
the electric eye
wave of phrase,
trying to get to you.

I knew
as a rock-
twisting storm,
left far
out of place,
you, you’re natural.


Shimmer moll,
glissando clutches of sad,
she’s uncertain in steel.

I wish someone
star-pinned you,
but I had to give, and go

all because of
some guiding
walk-on Snow White
afraid of the room.

Source: Lyrics of Bowie discography (one line per song from each of his first six albums).

Sarah Ann Winn’s poems, flash fiction and hybrid works have appeared or will appear soon in Five Points, Massachusetts Review, and Passages North among others. Her chapbooks include Field Guide to Alma Avenue and Frew Drive (forthcoming Essay Press, 2016), Haunting the Last House on Holland Island (forthcoming Porkbelly Press, 2016), and Portage (Sundress Publications, 2015). She’s currently a free-range librarian in Manassas, Virginia. Visit her at or follow her @blueaisling.

I Get Bored Very Quickly