tom taylor

spun torso

continental airs the history of which darkens
the light around the body in its shape & tone
the names of which are scalded and limned
by the hands that feed them what it is noted

in the memory of the line itself another rule
is passed for dead on the floor of life’s poem
and yielded into the ether like a poison arrow
schemed into the air without grace or nuance

the anchor sinks the boat and calls the audience
into the streets to watch the spectacle unfold
from the days and nights on the program curled
about like a flame or wrinkled skin on the door