| How We Like to Drown Ourselves by Josef Benson 1 Fact is, he was a dandy, The sort that carries a thin pink comb in the back pocket Of his tight blue jeans. It doesn’t square otherwise Why he’d spurn the nymph, Not echo Echo’s echo. Smote with his own mug, Those big familiar smoky eyes Peering back, Undulating over the brackish water. 2 She was a nymph! A hot needle on a rainy day, Dumb with the knowledge That her one truth, cherry picked, Was no longer certain. Even her tears were sexy As they piggy-backed their way down Drawing the pond That might one day Birth the world’s cockiest flower. 3 Our boy buoyant, weightless Delicate as an ash No, as a rising cinder Saunters upon that pond Curious because he’s been there before And not seen this gorgeous man Outlined with flakes of light This evanescent male. He reaches out his bony finger And with the help of a light wind, Erases his existence. |
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© 2007 prickofthespindle.com |
Josef Benson is a Ph.D. student in literature at the University of South Florida where he also teaches creative writing. He holds creative writing degrees from Missouri State and USF. |