Bitter Offering

by Warren C. Longmire

And here’s to disastrous news and the grace 
of each arc of decay:

An ejaculate of oil burps from a crack in the earth. Some 
laughter pierces a distant uncle’s funeral, harsh and young.

Your boyish spectrum blooms through jean skirts. My toy 
microscope was stacked with grass, scab and boogie slides. Later,

high, I ate from a witch’s hand an offering of wicked brand beer 
and acorn meat. Despite hollowed gates opening, windows always

tempted us a jump. Last weekend, I watched you watch my back 
pickle. My memories of bodies somersaulting slowed and enjoyed

their descent. This mess. Scuffed feet stains overrunning my bath tub. A 
patch of toothpaste on the lip of your sink calcifies. A humid fall squats

dense on our chests at four in the morning. We play 20 questions

into the night.

– It’s an object the size of your face.
– It’s a place that no longer exists.

– A web of silk the small thing worries into.
– A mudslide with us there gasping fiercely one last time.

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