Blackbirdan online journal of literature and the artsFall 2017  Vol. 16 No. 2
an online journal of literature and the arts
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Eve, clownin’ Adam

I’m on the grind. What have you done today
but touch your chest and wonder why there’s not
a battle scar from me, like you had a play
in it, did something more than split, so hot
on your back as God made moves? You are the son
of made of nothing. Wading knee-deep in
the marsh, putting in work, oh man, you done
real good. Keep watching the drifting crustacean
you call krill. How pretty. Don’t you love the still

Master this.

You name. I hush
the jet stream. I am faithful to the thrill
of exhalation. Eve, meaning the crush
at the horizon, soldered land and skies.
I make this body you don’t recognize.  

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