Vergil, Alone
Jordan E. Franklin
It sings for me to reenter familiar steps. It calls my right hand
home under my katana’s guard and for my knees to bend as I wait
for the rhythm. It is a pity most never see the end of this dance.
It sings for me to reenter familiar steps. It calls my right hand
home under my katana’s guard and for my knees to bend as I wait
for the rhythm. It is a pity most never see the end of this dance.
where is your blubber? it is colder here than you
in this nuclear winter untouched by sun, this liminal
territory peopled by animals, inhabited by blondes
and blue-eyes. you don’t see the history of predation:
I want to make my own
karaben (character) bento,
buy the freshest strawberries
cutting them into hearts
then sprinkling on the sugar.
Kaboom my chokehole and I will sing for you.
That is, I am out of caps and need help limping.
So much is defined by the shape of our pain.
The scar on my arm where my thumb rubbed through layer after layer of skin.
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