Word for/ Word

Susan Lewis

Dear Beautiful Mind,

digging in
the dirt

bent on breath
behind veils

bent on tears
fucking poles

(please sir can I have some
more management

or skin
or blinking petals

& sweet-salt flick of
excitable tongues)?

Barking like trees,
disembarked from their

floating isles,
harmlessly brûlées--

dear waste,
must you always & forever?

How can we embrace
your brute dominion?

Dear me (aged),
how could you?

Dear me (prior),
how could you?

Dear nerves,
as if we could forget

the tool for this kind
of animosity--

until managerially inclined

like flotsam & jetsam

(home-bound &

humming like the
Rock of Ages,

trembling like
no tomorrow,

unless & until
tomorrow (n)ever--