Tuesday, March 22, 2022

Tuesday poem #468 : Gregory Crosby : With My Own Hands


Little funerals full of tiny mourners,
these hours. Wondering if it’s worth it

to rob every grave, to drag the days back

to the laboratory, to stitch them

into something only lightning can love.

Will they mistake my creature for my name?

It will do neither of us any good.

All these years are only alive because

we belong dead. The spirit of the times:
pity mixed with horror. Torches, pitchforks.

We have pulled back the veil to reveal

darkness, & we sit in that dark, revealed.

The man who makes a monster makes the man

who makes a monster. Who makes a man.  



Gregory Crosby is the author of Said No One Ever (2021, Brooklyn Arts Press) and Walking Away from Explosions in Slow Motion (2018, The Operating System).

the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan


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