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Three Poems


Thomas Fink






PINNED BY PRERECORDED FUN,


how to maestro? Chance
must. The chance. Uniquely,

ungainly. To someone's disgust.
Whose fluency will you
see there?

Don't
stop
tinkering with the borrowed.
We can't peel publics.

Desperately respectable or not.
Stand me, I task
you. To wake subterranean
pace for a bluish
bonneted hill.

I know you won't
delete fish from stew.
I never sent any spam to you.
Bolted desks may hide

locals' eventual velocity. You
can shake, sugar, but
then you must leave.