In the city where we practiced itbraced with Bushmills & beerfor incline and descent bothequally slippery-sloped, slip-knottedlabyrinthian damnation beneath our feeta laudable slenderness to your armsthe brown press of mine, pretzeled, thus,we made ourselves into what we loved.
The hard-worked tiles of these sexy streets,beautiful and deadly with the infinite:boys chase girls chase boys, orthe too much song, you pick.
Send me this I had said. Send me the thingthat does not exist: the aspirant touched,as we like to say it back home where I can no longerreturn full handed or empty, the can’t-do-without spicegiven free. A quick burning man.Make us a Christian miracle: one disavowing fishthe other water, & only the night parting to make wayfor the resurrected late lovers, loyal and betrayed.
Give me territory as perilous as treasure
kneel if I…
You're reading a preview of
The American Poetry Review (Digital) - 1 Issue, May/June 2019