Skunks
eat leaves, peaceably in our garden
As
if this sibilance mattered to them
Ferns
confirm a photorealistic atmosphere
Friends
go in a hose to drink
When
you expect it, there it is
The
cup knows the hand like a question
Creases
time in the static, turning air
Into
vacuoles of discomfiture
Do
not adjust your lawn protocol
Skunks
eat leaves, mean art hogs
Hogs
mean art, art eats
Capital.
I have used up all
Of
my words for accumulation
Andrew Gorin is a poet and scholar based in Brooklyn. His creative and critical writings appear in Chicago Review, Urban Omnibus, The Boston Review, and Criticism, among other publications. He’s currently a Postdoctoral Fellow at NYU and an editor for the Organism for Poetic Research (organismforpoeticresearch.org) and The Distance Plan (thedistanceplan.org).
the Tuesday poem is curated by rob mclennan
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