Salt
Salt,like a womblike half a woundcakedaround a guttedscaled salmon. And salmon,the red half of living,caked in salt,downriver,down oven, before the claw,before the causeway,before the rare preferredflake. And flake,crystalline,salt and hard…
Poetry by Devon Brock
Salt,like a womblike half a woundcakedaround a guttedscaled salmon. And salmon,the red half of living,caked in salt,downriver,down oven, before the claw,before the causeway,before the rare preferredflake. And flake,crystalline,salt and hard…
None the wiser, trampolined pigsdisgorge the sty, and all the rocky run steam,swirled in basins, churned in the mud of the Missouri ormisery or the confluence of all them slumtacks…
We were friends once,before we sharpened scrapsfrom unfinished homesat the dead end of Cypress. We eyed ‘em true, those moldings,those sharp stones dug from the creekbed,those wires, thin and strong,each…
The pear tree,split by lightning, leansagainst the cedar fence. And as cake ice meltsfrom its limbs, in the last throesof a winter soon gone, Its fingers, thinabove my open hand,place…
Suzy knew I liked rye toast,buttered in the kitchen.She knew the over easy,hashbrowns and bacon, chewy. She knew, maybe smelled bad directionon my breath, bus fumes on my sleeves,lake sludge…
Once up in ‘63, or‘62, or —Some nimble cat crawledthe ladder with a can in its jawand sprayed “Class of ‘64” — durable —like gold or lichen, like rust,the year…
Is this then recalibration — to wake,unspecified, undetermined,as if the means of producing a facemelted into the moon, and the alarm now —whines of coyotes, dog legon my hip, and…
On a day unlike ours — how many hourson a string loose strung does our starling love pulsebetween a pair of paper cups — You, over there, not far,but further…