By Chris Carosi
a word works through soil, a transit breaching blood
cell, magnetized as message
wait for me to die and you will know death too
shares a brackish voice
the distant clappers like campfire
the dull / brilliant light the earth lets go
as bent men, we lead and look with our cheeks
at hellholes that link our hierarchies
I do my service now with sword
the hills are cleaved
a brass din in their cores
Chris Carosi is from Pittsburgh and studied at the University of San Francisco creative writing program. He is the author of the chapbooks FICTIONS (Gorilla Press, 2015) and bright veil (New Fraktur Press, 2011). More of his poems have appeared in Spring Gun, Switchback and a few others. He lives in San Francisco with Rebecca.
