ISSUE TWELVE | SPRING 2019
The sunlight a bell
maddening how morning resounds
feebly tracing breaths
can almost hear in the shit of it
feet knocking tall end of mattress
temperature in the act of a hallway have
to drive punch the brake-line
yellow butterflies 60 mph
headlights rupturing the door jamb mold
splayed across blank fresco immanent
the caresses are to be held
graceless the fresh darkness aching always
for relief for what
a dry sun is to a bell
body that is mine
body that does not
disabuse the lens stemmed from eyes between fragments.
his his his
like petals wrung
alongside st. augustine grass cultivated then cut.
the character rage might feel
morning a reproach
conjecture or aflame like dimples softly cracking loose
air air air. the space lightning
takes up. aflutter in gleans of salt circling
c culbertson is a writer and artist whose work has appeared in BOMB-CYCLONE. They are from South Florida.
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