KEROSENEby Shannon Hozinec No lamplight for this town. batwings spread, welcome quiet biographies carved into yucca – blackened tongues unlock the honey from behind our knees. beckon, we have forgotten how to wear shoes Walking the fortieth led him here. We must resist ourselves, must persist in what we think we are owed. my lips are lottery winners, unfolded maps are signing our peace treaty. Here, we only dance to love songs heard in mine shafts, and I slide, I choke, I put on a dead woman’s lipstick. womb filled with ash, my little eye is growing. |