The Candourless Circuit of Our Days
Jason Wilkinson

In the last one I made a dip for the hedgerow—

Circumambient there,
among the ravaged bits I came
out swinging at a
gallimaufry of dead pugilists
nodding my head
to the din of their masochistic body

Then in round one an overhead lamp
blossomed cleverly into stars
not the order of which click
chipped chalices their
bacon-scented garlands
roiling in a summer wind
but those that leap
within themselves glowing
the distant light I saw
my blood congeal upon the gold and
heated leather insert
memories of rouge-pattered nails
terrycloth hallway love knowing
the candourless circuit of our days
Now there are rainbows amid the bleached façade
close, vented lockers
some being pregnant with expiring wardrobes
lie tendentiously agape
giving off a ticker tape of sour perfume

Now my teeth are under glass
in a cup next to
the washstand
faucet blinking &
without purpose ever
so often I am said to unload
a sharp hook
into the medicine chest
as if of the opinion that one might easily
by this method
catch at the reflected
objects therein.


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