August Poem 45: Into the Yellow Heat

Changed. The wounds on a poem retold. My feet

Micro expressions express the micro

Aggression that is hiking campus on

Forgotten old rolls of toilet paper.

Dimmed but the words remain. Throbbing Into

A lack. Into the yellow heat. Proverb

Of feeling. Of the hillside cliffs. My milks—

A foot filled with fiery embers of pain.

Barkeeps—they keep my words lubricated.

They can recite them from memory. Like

Substance. Like fiction. Like lips that never

Make the wrong base spirit. The brown-red of

Stiffness. Pain. A limp. A rock in the heel

Of my foot. I try not to limp. Only.

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