Backstreet barricade, arcane
balustrade, hidden kingdom of wing and prayer,
details too fine to miss or mess with,
skinny escape from a netherhood
of parapets and puddle soaked oaks.
Hospital palatial, shadows under foot and bed.
Time glacial. Fear the sound in both ears.
Tubes, lube, sudden exclamation,
declaration of unrepentance, remnants
of dinner untouched, rouged, hushed.
Scat tracks, crosswalk, bebop
haircut; moonshine, daylight,
pills not popped: no threats
to these daily threads I weave and weave.
TODAY IN SLATE
I was hit by a teacher in an East Texas public school. It taught me nothing.
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