tether me to my shadow
I don't believe in a round earth. The horizon's
curve is a god-born crown.
The polar forces of faith & despair
rotate the world's weight
to keep this whirling disc in motion.
I have magnetic fingers.
I pull mineral from loam.
I call blood to pale cheeks.
I split seas like lips for plosive consonants.
I maneuver the metallic between your hips.
ran on faith.
was a genesis.
Sing your heartbreak. I want to visit the corners
you crawled to for silence
and solitude. I want the skin you shed
praying for the mercy of friction.
Sing your shadow to me—
when it's filled. When that man breaks you.
- The epigraph comes from David Lee's Psalm of Home Redux.
- This poem was first published in Gamut.