from Self-Portrait: Dead by Atom Ariola

from Self-Portrait: Dead by Atom Ariola

Poetry, Vol. 4.1, March 2010

I am a soft red toy
on the gurney
the air also colored
red to match the hour,
the plumb’s skin shifting
half on fire, half sleeping.
Then the eyes,
these strangled stems
of umbilical night,
reflecting a fullness
that began it.
Closed or not, I pull down
the shroud.

Risen from the water’s still skin
my hands filled with new peaches
clavicle sounds
escaping the smaller waves
thumbprints for eyelids
and out of the sea’s green tendon
a neckline protrudes
coins and silver fish in my mouth
—mouth tight and needled shut
with the moon’s
blue quiet.

Dessa and the Can Hermit by Micah Dean Hicks

Enough by Rebecca Cross

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