from PSALMS OF LAMENT FOR DIVINE IMPERATIVES by Jennifer Metsker
You’re a bluffing a color-matching.
Fingers on the breeders cup.
You’re the gentle way that oxen pull a carriage
through a needle while people movers move people
into the breach into the Paraguay swampland love
green love the reptiles and brushwork so pretty.
You’re the movement of a letter
from one side of a corridor to the other.
In the matchbox hour cars cruise by and leave me. I must
carry water carry paper carry my life in little packages
upstairs. Delivery is a method. Disguise is a method.
I place a bid on a haunted dresser emboldened strident.
I just wanted someone to live with.
If the wayfinding
if the great wall if the subway if there are no safe
destinations then voices in my head are set to music
and they run amok in the shadows naked.
There’s no use reckoning with the irritable television.
Faces sit on necks and necks plummet into dresses.
The number on my chest breathes in horoscopes and
exhales a model train kit. But the formatting
isn’t quite right. Fix the fingers with a splint.
Can you be ready in a minute?
When I want to touch stars and
there are no arms to catch me I arrive
by night carriage and step down all pageantry into
quintessential wide night sky.
- Published in ISSUE 25