Where did I pick up a raw
right hand wrung more by New
England dew points than the brittle
prairie I abandoned it was pitted
with the graves of these same
small follicles they burrow deep
so I can’t pinch them out
Though I dream about it I squeeze
this eggshell’d nerve I caress
its peppermint varnish pinch it
to find a new throb Not the warm
relief weak pills bring the kind
I can’t stand to rely on Not the reset
release of brushed teeth or the first
roll in fresh sheets devoid of the clear
snap of unwrapped gum just ready
to coat your tongue and then nothing
Not unlike the shit someone
mumbles at a wake about how
our grief is smaller than a sneeze
to the universe True and immediate
relief Freedom from cops who paid
to get stuck with iron crosses and
the cowardly remainder What sunshine
fills our alleyways when fresh baby
lungs bray out their disgust at the slime
that slathers this world until the white blood
cells die off and pile up and finally pop out.
Levi Rubeck is a poet and critic living in Somerville, MA. His first chapbook of poetry, Lunar Flare, was published Argos Books in 2017. He writes on videogames, music, and more for Unwinnable kinda regularly.
