cinched...
lee whittier
eye would lie cinched up in my breathing
like a coat against the rain on my stomach
tendin’ to a drowned man
n under the spell
from the aroma of sleep in the almost dark
of an after lunch naptime my six yar old
body buried alive
in brown buster browns n a lazy-eyed teacher
like a newspaper wound fish
Eye could smell the salt air of my sweat
my belly full of everything satisfied nd nothing
my body spoke to me of hinger in a belly
eye had never fed
eye didn’t know if it had been a mouth or what it
might like to eat it was almost
a silliness like the deep breathing
in the dentist’s office
as eye rubbed myself without distinction
tween myself&my sex gainst the rough grain
of the cot as if sanding away
an outer coat
the brightness within
lightning until it flared
so bright I thought
it might wake
the hard fruits
around me
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