Used to Be a Pizza Place

N. Ian McCarthy

Mad Bongo Maze

Bend down 
your tired 
sunflower in
this small
space

behind the
bleached
ribs of an
unconsecrated 
whale—

at another
intersection
named for a
deciduous 
tree, 

near 
the second-
hand sock 
of an Asian 
nail salon.

Fold
your nylon 
sleeping bag's
triangle flap

a sigh's 
width
under the 
ritual blade
of your 
jaws.

A wet 
morning 
eye
will
cense
your mouth's 
benediction,

even as
the idling 
musk from last
night's pole-
cats 

reminds 
the pink 
canopy
of your
gums.

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Author: Sudden Denouement

A Global Literary Collective

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