By Chris Carosi

a word works through soil, a transit breaching blood

cell, magnetized as message

wait for me to die and you will know death too

shares a brackish voice

the distant clappers like campfire

the dull / brilliant light the earth lets go

as bent men, we lead and look with our cheeks

at hellholes that link our hierarchies

I do my service now with sword

the hills are cleaved

a brass din in their cores


Chris Carosi is from Pittsburgh and studied at the University of San Francisco creative writing program. He is the author of the chapbooks FICTIONS (Gorilla Press, 2015) and bright veil (New Fraktur Press, 2011). More of his poems have appeared in Spring Gun, Switchback and a few others. He lives in San Francisco with Rebecca.

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