there’s a hole in the rain through it you can see your birth it’s blank I’m walking with an itch on my shoulder with a walking stick birds carry your arrival string it over the trees plague years do you know how many times I’ve heard you times I covered myself are the birds hung like ornaments still covered with you clamped down on a branch lights in trees line the path your birth sudden soak that rains from plague years your cover over the house black clouds deliquesce never got the order right it’s blank my coverage of you contained in you blank I’m sitting with breathing with you
The formatting for this post may break on small screens, so it is also available as a downloadable PDF.
As a child, on interstate trips, Lewis LaCook (he/him) thought the moon was following his family’s Econoline van. Upon reaching adulthood, he couldn’t tell whether the truth disappointed or relieved him, so he started writing things down. His poems have appeared in journals like Otoliths,Unlikely Stories, Whiskey Tit, Lotus-eater, Synchronized Chaos, Argotist Online Poetry, and Medusa’s Kitchen, among others. His collection My Kinship with the Lotus-eaters was published in 2022 by BlazeVOX. Lewis can often be found wandering the wilds of Western New York state with his wife Lindsay.