“how liminally can the lyric exist,” I asked the wilderness
& the wilderness just blinked. so I exited, stage-left, & offered
only my agreeing with green: explosions of caricature
I could claw from suburban lawns.
I’ve since trained my explosions to slow down, to reiterate
the pinch of the cricket-skull I mime. thinking as lime juice, browned into mud
thick as wet steak, produced
as we accumulate “the faculty to imagine that which
we know”—what a slinky & stairs
naturally do: slug on. on a scale of 1-10, indicate your exact level
of anxiety when asked to differentiate
from barbed wire & rose stems—if you’ve
ever felt it: a history of fingernails, grooved
into a mahogany witness seat’s
underside. our devastations grow with the slowing
of the nightmare Swamp Thing never was: distance
we’d accrued—as sieves—to dream
proximities between raindrops. this also manifests a suture.
just like you when you, for the first time, let go
your mother’s hand
in a supermarket, & knew—
& were sure you knew— the craze of opened spaces
Jake Syersak is a PhD student in English and Creative Writing at the University of Georgia and author of Impressions in the Language of a Lantern’s Wick (Ghost Proposal). His poems have most recently appeared or are forthcoming in TYPO, Omniverse, and Yalobusha Review. He edits Cloud Rodeoand Letter Machine Editions.