8th Month

It's the heat, though, No one mentions. An elemental, indisputable physical fact Jabbing chlorine and sumac Into breasts and thighs (I'd only seen in anthropological museum dioramas) Now hanging indulgently, grotesquely inside my pale, striped skin. Each remedy links past and present discomforts into a thorned wreath Mechanically clicking, turning, a cog In a watch … Continue reading 8th Month

The Racer

qualification precise failure to fail engineered mediocrity round, round, round, round, round, It used to be:      blades of grass between my toes      oboe reeds, buzzing in the wind      pores open, itching      cold earth in my nails      salt in the rings round my neck days when I just was I wasn’t fooling anybody Everyone is … Continue reading The Racer