November 2015 - Comments Off on Matthew Tuckner

Matthew Tuckner


What else is the heir to breath?
Contained in wings that flip off night.
Light is light when there is absence of shades.
Shade is shade when light objects.
Fighting with fitted gloves on the floor,
you tempt me to drop your weight
Balanced on my shoulders. I can’t
talk, or hear, with one of your
many bastards banging on the,
basement door. I let in, what you
left out, I let in, what you let out,
I let in.

Published by: in Issue 1: Fall 2015, Poetry, Volume 72

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