Thursday, April 24, 2014
a poem by curtis rogers
My done work is here.
Before any talk of withdrawn really
kicks in, I’m swinging from a canned chandelier.
I no-brainer the footsteps I’ll retrace. Pull the weather
it shows a rando hearth around its seams. The player
breaking huddle is my element I’m out of. Helmet of gloss
through a bubble I blow. The way I see it, I could have been
the Spirit of St. Louis of my family. The shout that dovetails,
before & more before, around the bullet I bite. I’m blowing
a bubble with the bullet I bite. Emotionally available
to dry mouth, dizziness. A camera-shying clarity overtakes
me, how a diving board swipes at what it promotes.
I tense & something hothead & motherly
is exposed. I break form when I pull
for the home team. My breath
upvotes pop in its excess.
Curtis Rogers received his MFA in poetry from NYU's Creative Writing Program. He has pieces appearing of forthcoming in The Literary Review, cream city review, DIAGRAM, Painted Bride Quarterly, The Atlas Review, and elsewhere. Currently, he works and lives in Washington, DC.