by Sam Preminger
before the aliens abducted her
she danced a cobweb in her field:
step of the cat summoned a
serpent – thirty two whips turning,
screwing out roots, skirt – her petal
caught on its own breeze. lovers thought
she could have danced dirt into quicksand,
made the earth hunger for turning.
snake anchored ‘round ankles,
not this: the ballerina wafted up –
a dandelion into some silent machine.
Sam Preminger would rather have been born a moth, even if it meant drowning in your kitchen sink. He studies Creative Writing and Philosophy at SUNY Geneseo, but that will be over soon.