Mirror of the Egg

the liver’s moth ,bird
comb paper shrunken
in yr leg the hoof
magnifier flows across
my throat credit open
sandhill ,dung ,sentience
or mucus early in the
suture where yr genes
stride a ladder ,switch
blades ,dental flea st
randed on the ice and
manhole covered with
,your vision lake ,it’s a s
lugfest giggling in the
pages where yr “pig
sea” hugs the bomb
you clcluttered in yr
bbaggage - O my
jagged freedom horse
my towel awash in
“pig .38” ,donut rules
mutter in the salt
black an crusted on the shore



...in the great lazy ocean...
- Jim Leftwich,
Six Months Aint No Sentence,
Book 39, 2013