Leveler Poetry Journal
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I Climbed on Top of a Viewpoint that Unfortunately You Could Not See

 

You appeared to me as a

lake, a bleached fox,

pink-mouthed, eating

sewage where the lake

sank. You appeared to me

as a silver mist suspended

in the corner of my

bedroom. When I stuck my

face inside your mist my

nose milked red. You

appeared to me as a tinfoil

cloud dripping slowly into a

metal ocean. Everything

was magnetic. The grass

rusted into penknives.

Metal shavings sliced feet.

Everyone bled out as if to

teach me a lesson on how

to be courageous.




Sean Shearer