Leveler Poetry Journal
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To belay a path upward,

I string a bow of newfound gut

and aim

towards an aperture of logic in the sky.


Horoscopes indicate:

chin up. You should go out tonight.


Summer’s daisy eyes stare at Dawn,

its clarity of cosmic red.


I’m awash in the season.


The people who act on love

in a mute tangle of ligaments,

and those who keep their own bread

and salt


speak elusive truth: there is nothing I have

that would make you love me:

no leverage, no pride at recognition, no dog.


I idle in torrents of reason,

wild-running streams

where iridescent fish cast straight lines

to the re-emerging sun.


Invisible mouths breath on my body

I’m searching for you, twin.

Mary Catherine Kinniburgh