National Poetry Month: { } by Rachel Springer

Apr 2, 2014Archive, Feature

{ }

by Rachel Springer


{ }

This is my war face whispering for you to get

wet. Dark hair pelts you, pots & pans & pigtails

clamoring. Had I a horse, I’d hold you to that.

Slab on slab of hearing you call daddy, I say fuck

me in that order. You give forehead kisses, I make

them into a slideshow for Bruce, Bruce, Bruce &

Michael. Reckless editing, you say. That’s not what

I hear. Am counting to three. Long time rubber

lifestyle. You lick my eyelids. I lick your whole face.

This poem is from issue 39.2. You may purchase a copy here.