appealing

The Maynard
Fall 2019

Mark Gregory Lopez
0:00
 
 

Sailor



We hush quiet

incantations into bark.


                Ice-ready linens wade for hand-carved red



of tower-watchers.



Nights are for cancer, some for cant-burns.




A limb-bleached question for makers who made too many.


                                                                                                What did we make?


What lasso-lame message was there to breathe into?


                                                       Another tether to our ribs.




                                                               Whipping cord to shatter the morning.