“Noise & Fantastics” (2025) - Rachel Sumner
Are these visions from god of the holiest terrors? 
Or charred, smoking nightmares to wake from and smother immediately
For fear you’d disturb
The whole of your household— the whole neighborhood

The holes in the fabric of this galaxy
Would scare you if your two small eyes could just see ‘em
Like crawling from bed to go sneak a peek
Late, on an unusually warm Christmas Eve

And the presents are gone, and so is the tree
No trace of tinsel, nor garland or wreath
Beneath the blackhole of grief you are given
A cinder of spirit’s enough to keep living

Sometimes there’s a sun burning between my thighs
And they had convinced me to let that star die
Dim the brightness a bit, a lady’s tight-lipped
But I am equipped for noise and fantastics

Are these voices from god? Good lord, aren’t they deafening?
The devil you know wouldn’t mind all this questioning
Shall I conceal this gift, this disease?
What’s mine isn’t mine, but I guarantee that

We’ll scrape the gold from the veins of this mine shaft
And follow the lode to wherever she shines, like the
Flash of a smile of a beautiful girl
Can I can up her joy like a jar of preserves?

A pocket of posies, a locket of lashes
A crown made of hair from a loved one that passes
The past will press us like lilies to a page
But cleansing will not come from smudging the sage

Wisdom will reach for us in it’s own time
Whether wizened or else at the peak of our prime
I know I’m bound to be bound at the stake, boys
But from then and now I’m brimming with noise and fantastics 

All will fall down, fools are found in the mystery
Some of our bravest are lost to history
Records will play out what victors can bear,
And hope all the horrors are fleeting as prayer

Curling the newspaper corners with matches
I watched the day’s log dissolve into ashes
Did it happen at all if all proof was removed?
Did we live at all if our lifelines are smoothed?

Lord, I can smell the fumes of my future!
Pride has deemed Fire my suitable suitor
I’m destined to be his bride and his joy
And we will be wed with nothing but noise and fantastics