Because I Wanted to Live Staggering Distance from Shadow
Another night below Baum, spent searching the catalogue of rainbow
imitations— nothing but hum and whimper. On the way home,
over its own shadow, the compass trips. Drowsy blinds
allow a glimpse into a semi-attached brick house. A haze of a man,
his offbeat dance, lips pouting kisses at each passing cloud. He confesses
I do not remember being born, but I have seen the scars. It looked like a rip
and run, handsdeep in pockets, it’s purged bounty. A stunning almost
smile. A bitten tongue. Count the coins and walk the route. The chariot
might miss, but there’s no rushing home. Blood in mouth, the smile leans left.
Brian Francis is a Cave Canem fellow from New York City. He graduated from the University of Pittsburgh with a degree in Creative Nonfiction and has an MFA in Poetry NYU. His poetry has been featured or is forthcoming in Fledgling Rag, Cave Canem Anthology XIII and Tupelo Quarterly.
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