Saturday, April 2
SAW, CIRCULAR
we serve
the swerve that one
good turn
deserves. another
riven swivel,
pivot fodder.
the whole flock
reverses charges,
calls collective.
turn me
on to turn me
one again.
how in
our moment’s um,
now buckles,
bones up on
the autopsy-turvy
table, espies
and pries the gum
stuck under
to make a meal
of then recoil,
anguine, sanguine,
disavow each
season’s treason
as it reveals
the wheel.
(Dora Malech)