October

Issue 49

Thirst— On my tongue In my tongue All the way through My salt pork tongue Dream— Pristine, crystalline Pregnant with cool A taut sac of surface tension Restraining its goodness Just one drop… To die— Alone on this colorless hell With paradise glimmering Across a black gulf Taunting me, so blue This vessel— Broken, askew in the sand I put my trust in her flesh That temporal wreck She only got me here, not back Send someone to relieve my agony… A thin sliver of eternity separates me I need a way back to the first So someone may tell me not to wander, Not to let propulsion carry me away To explore dead places, and find death I need a servant With a wet fingertip I need Lazarus