A Backward Glance

i was your beast
of unburden

the arctic and its
crickets of ice

grew on me like fine
hairs of mold

i mistook a molt
for metamorphosis

but once we all knew
how to make change

now they round us down
to the nearest hole

and hand out wafers
of ukrainian jesus

my poems are ladders
that lead nowhere

i could be on a jet writing
contrails across the sky

instead of these two
scrawny lines

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.