ISSUE  1   2   3  

4 

 5     SUBMIT

In Segments


Edwin Rodriguez

I.

“You momma’s boy, you writer,” fell from her mouth.
No riverbeds of distinction,
of crystallized convexes.
Derelict vocalization: no nouns,
no verbs, no gerunds,
no presentiment.


II.

Stinky ham ordinances of her
heart.
Disturbing stinky ham ordinances in my
undershirt drawer.
Wreckless stinky ham ordinances in the
freshness of my soul.


III.

Last night I woke up in the morning,
you terrible slag. I sensed her
stress fracture. And it was mine
too.


IV.

Glass is Made of Bark and
Sunshine Causes Pelvic Bruising
are the most interesting articles
I’ve read in weeks.
I think there was a quote in there
that said, “unbutton my zipper.”


V.

Why with her gorgeous severity?
It
saturated everything in sepia.
Not least of which my gas chambered
soul.


VI.

“Scuttle the gib. Then open the hatch.”
I was hang gliding on the Vineyard and
someone at sea mouthed these words below
me.
I lurched upward.
I don’t want to get up for a new wifebeater.


VII.

“Please stop. Just try to understand.”
“I’ll try harder. I’ll really try harder.”
“I can’t.”
“Talk to me.”
“Please stop.”


VIII.

The great fish, no wait, mammal, surfaces.
He can’t breathe, and he can’t spit me
out.
He tries but he can’t. He goes under
then comes back up. Suddenly, he launches
me from his blowhole.