Arsenic Lobster poetry journal
Issue Twenty-five
Spring 2011
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Green
Jonathan Lohr

Green woods to take your own food and
copper kettles to make your own beer
We dressed for church every day

Chew on your ear swallow your skin
The martyrs try to touch each other because
what else is there to do in the eternal?

We stay here in the crypt with candles
We breathe our dead, carry them with us
like clouds. Carry cities through streets in leather bags

Who’s tucked in, hiding under blankets?
I swear to God you should venerate me
look for your loved ones in my sacred lungs

About Jonathan Lohr

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