The Well-Tempered Clavicle
I've got to get back to the
lisping lung, the feral staircase,
the malignant gray plank, the
lethal begun. That is to say,
your lips, beautifully pressed
silencers,
a convulsant chest wall.
The plumb line's a pendulum.
Can I explain what I like about this poem in 25 words? Word choice, sounds, absurd images. Yes, I could sum it up in 5.
The Afterlife is a Dry County
Poems by Charmi Keranen
Big Wonderful Press
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