AWISH
︎︎︎ Lamb
︎ July 22, 2025
To lose squarely to myself, multiply large numbers
in my head with the nonchalance of unlaid brick.
In my blood push carts of hardened pioneers.
They jerk and keel when I stare at a calendar.
I reach into the big glass fridge, behind the gallon
jugs of milk, to touch something that’s not for sale.
Under the steward moon, a myth waters her ferns,
turning dark her rolling skirt in the gorgeous pour.
in my head with the nonchalance of unlaid brick.
In my blood push carts of hardened pioneers.
They jerk and keel when I stare at a calendar.
I reach into the big glass fridge, behind the gallon
jugs of milk, to touch something that’s not for sale.
Under the steward moon, a myth waters her ferns,
turning dark her rolling skirt in the gorgeous pour.