Paper Wasp
This is how I've learned to let murderers touch me:
a chewy nip on my knee, like the bite from a paper wasp
collected carefully at night. I try not to disturb
their nests free of mud and sound. But they always
find me. I have to admit I crave this: one voice
is full of welts and water. One voice full
of weeping sores. One wing cloven.
posted by cornshake | 5:03 PM
1 Comments:
hi guys--this poem is full of caesuras that i'll have to send as a doc later when we send it in--should we send you word docs, Oliver? hee hee, i'm volunteering you to send it all in. Speaking of which--will the final submission to IR be these recent seven line poems --one each from each of us? The deadline is coming up soon, eh? xo,a
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