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Some unboxed words
should be left alone. Those boxes hold jewels for my hair, spiders for my light, peaches for my sink. Don't use 'em all up. I pick a few to go with my baby teeth. ... Published in Roadrunner Review
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- after "Pilot Verse" by Matt W. Miller
Now to write a book of birth, eighty pages edged in gold. Now to crack back the ribs to peer inside fresh lungs. Now to scrape the cavities full of meat and metal ends. Now to spit into open hands thronging the empty flames. Now to let loose the wails waiting deep in my throat. ... Published in Roadrunner Review |
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