Revisiting the same old page
of flesh's arbitrary breach,
I limp without a pair of limbs.
Take one step toward who I am--
a child with a lyric flashlight
looking under rotting boards.
Reach for stars without my arms
as ropes on piers must feel the sea.
Swimming ocean's archery
with only scales and slimy
fins of willingness.
Adaptation's engine block--
crustaceans inch a stormy beach.
Work arounds that grow up
carnal dispensation, desperation,
dog-eat-dog mobility.
I circle as an eagle does
when stomachs of the sky are growling,
groveling for scraps of food--
graham cracker crumbs
of cheesecake grace.
Red-eye shame in tiny squares.
Rat-infested prom pale dreams.
Disappointment straddles me;
I pull the rip-cord of a poem.
Haul my chalk-white body cast
up stares and stairs too steep to climb.
Those stalled old trucks of bones revised--
expectation's reputation
sitting in the breakdown lane.
A dusty mattress on its side
looking for that promised earth
like vines in Steinbeck's Grapes of Wrath.
I ride the fence of sinking slats,
saddle-sore from renaissance.
Click my mouse and then delete
the digits of deep hunger's land.
by Janet I. Buck
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