December 2016 - Comments Off

Nathan Copperwheat

Classic Argentina Adventure 2000

I would like to               I must
admit, Nathan, the rows
of tapping fingers
and hissing faces         the whole

casual wardrobe
of being and coping
with being        it        it

Not that I could             This
fluorescent blood
could not lacquer a liferaft
should not be consumed by children
or even snakes

My Gloves

II.

my gloves got
wet rubbing ice and sooty
butter from the tiles under
one thousand unlit brass lamps

in the wood shrine                       and here they lie
limp on the
sill taking what
they can get
from the cloud
cut sunlight
and before

I can stop myself I find myself
God                  damning them

I.

who will you tell             you are
dying, Nathan? who will owe you
             the time it will take
             to be your last distraction?

Published by: in Issue 1 : Fall 2016, Poetry, Volume 73

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