← v20n2, Fall 2021Poetry · Volume 20, Number 2
Yellow Rug, Let’s Go!
Kropotkin used the same
slingshot that David used
to strike Goliath. There were
eighteen, nineteen,
twenty-eight corpses until they were
ironed. The ironed ones withered.
I have hard, round pins
in my eyes. Angels eat
leathery snakes and race
in shoes. The waiters get dustier
every day. I’m writhing like
a bee. I’m also sighing
like a bee. Tisserie, tisserie,
this is a plain croissant.
