YOUR TOTALITY FAILS YOU
Which is it—that long shadow dripping down the day, or
the royalty of cum stains blooming when finally you are left
alone, is this a dream of a wrong-coloured horse, a darkness
to die in, the last stretch of granite before you reach a peak
of a small country, a sapling broken rear-ending your way
out of a mistaken turn, some swivel at the question
it does move like that. Like, slipping the dead flowers off
into trash though architecturally sound. Like, if I want another
drink I’ll get it myself. Like, you can twist neon to prayer
but you’ll still gut-think motel ahead. Some questions suffer
easy. Some questions offer more than two types of light.
CAROLINE CREW is the author of PINK MUSEUM (Big Lucks), as well as several chapbooks. Her poetry and essays appear in The Kenyon Review, DIAGRAM, and Gulf Coast, among others. Currently, she is pursuing a PhD at Georgia State University, after earning an MA at the University of Oxford and an MFA at UMass-Amherst. She’s online here.