poem || Jeff Harrison

Queen Nab Masquerade

a toast to you, passed-around worrier
dark surplus water rattling around as
you're bending breathing in white grasses
skin my enthusiasm & see how pretty
it is then, a sequential enthusiasm anatomy,
layers nabbed clear & ever clearer
if in such clarity we have silence & if
in silence we have death, then in echo we
have the cradle, words don't spread to the
edges of my breath, these edges are
spattered with blowflies, our bones are
the roots of the sky, the hair of our head is
the bottom seam, is the center of the Earth,
if this cup could snow, its saucer would be
a bank, Queen Nab, faint with feeding silence,
words imprisoned on hairs slender like stakes
dark surplus water in this toast time of your guts