Poetry: 162 –Scott Jacobs Jr

162

there is a 45 minute line through my memory
pulling back the times i bull-armed the delicacies
put them in their boxes & coffined them to sea

the flood to my brain is pumping lethe
& i don’t recall the falls of the birds from their perches
dragged by a horse named demented deep down into the ditches

my blood brother’s name?                           —it’s intimacy
we may go years & years & years
then one day it will be bones i tell you
––––––––––––—bones

but i suppose i am standing in this 45 minute line
in front of the anatomic horizon—catch it through the window
as the shadows drag slowly past everything along the criterion

ham after ham after ham i tell you
as if repetition were the latest deleterious convention
pulled by the handle—the little delicate moppet

there is a 45 minute line fading at the entry
i will get to the cracks i got to the radio i’m getting pneumatic & distant
now i have to hack at the ice                         & here
––––––––––––––––––––—right here becomes tricky

Scott Jacobs Jr. is a bricklayer and founder of YesNo Press.

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