BRIAN HENRY
Two Poems
Divine Residue
The cloud continent beneath us
stretches the sky past care,
the fickle sun now constant.
Where is the long-eared mammal
(I say rabbit, you say hare)
raised for the sake of our plates?
The light stuck between cinnamon
and caramel, I refuse to suck in
any more of this poison air.
Something has set my teeth on fire,
my tongue has dissolved, been swallowed,
is rocking inside its own acid pouch.
I will flush it out in the morning
with coffee, the rushed turd a blend of
tongue and rabbit, tongue come and hare
The Opposite of Business
What in a jar I blasted through
a concrete pipe in the woods
crammed with porn &
cherry bombs
our bodies too young to come
even though we rubbed &
humped with soap stars
in view
all minor explosions
nothing worth reporting or repeating
the autopsy points to stroke
nothing worth rotting or wronging
maybe they will listen
when I say Don’t crowd me so
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