The blushing blood rushing to the surface grasps harder when set on gray and green. My darling. How sick. I sold you under-cooked chicken and sugarless gum. I told you it was raw, organic, free, and home on the range. Imagine tufts of feathers playing with deer and cantaloupe. No, leave the feathers out. Imagining this meat with movement and body warmth can churn a city stomach. Don’t worry; it’ll all be up and over soon.
Published by KeiferMay
Keifer May is a young poet and essayist that lives in Fort Wayne, Indiana with his loving, artistic partner. He has been published in Confluence. He is sending poems to small presses as he works on finalizing his first chapbook (how ironic). View all posts by KeiferMay