Smoke under the Bale

My story-hieroglyphics of scuff and blister.
How can you know me? Tin and bridle,
neigh and crocker sack. My gandy-song-
the blue-buzz of flies.
Sugar from your palm? No.
Give me your fingers. Under this hairshirt
steams the vocabulary of the flesh,
crosshatched and scarred into meaning

Last updated February 23, 2023