/ Dear pickled fish in a tin pan, I've been alone with you for a week
and I already know what deep purple looks like. I already know your pupils,
the delicate way the fault lies in the finder.
: You are under my fingernails, a smooth functioning watch.
/ All of this is making me a salted slug. /
Please house me in your damp and crowded rooms — A quadrangle;
I'm not known for my logic and I'm generally torn down.
After Georgia, everything was geopolitical : I threw you in a pit of crocodiles.
Everything is partially solved. Again, arched windows and we must conclude outer shells to a balloon without exposure.
/ The arrival is at the mouth of a blue-grey horizon— / a vulnerable core of each hour in dark pine forests.
Day by day, more fall sick—regardless of genetics, there's vulnerability:
In June, a tooth pulled, an inherited
shifting foot / an implicated feeling:
what do you tell yourself when you walk away from someone?
Kristen Orser is the author of Folded Into Your Midwestern Thunderstorm (Greying Ghost Press); Winter, Another Wall (blossombones); Fall Awake (Taiga Press); Squint (Dancing Girl Press); and E AT I, illustrated by James Thomas Stevens (Wyrd Tree Press). She is certain about being uncertain and she might forget to return your phone calls.