Arsenic Lobster
poetry journal |
Issue Nineteen Spring 2009 |
Closetland Kristine Ong Muslim They are frisky--those hanged creatures of texture and boneless mechanics. Halved, they entertain aggression, rustle like itinerant husks. They have no reason to learn body language. My fingers disappear at the boundary between fabric and air. I want to breathe with them, pat their seams, squeeze the trapped light between the folds. They always yield, crinkling as they overtake the world. |
About Kristine Ong Muslim |