It’s strange enough to be drawing
that which isn’t
me into my lungs, moistening it
and returning it
as beaded moisture on a ceramic
with hand-painted ivy.
I am someone but someone else
took up the brush and the chartreuse.
Some other warm water
dotted some other world.
The marriages and violent acts,
the ties and paths that bind and layer
each kiss, the memories
like powders gently blown
from the thing itself enter my lungs
but never quite become me.
The green glaze, the hazy green world.
Glen Armstrong edits a poetry journal called Cruel Garters and has a new
chapbook titled Set List (Bitchin Kitsch,) and two more scheduled for 2015: In
Stone and The Most Awkward Silence of All (both Cruel Garters Press.)