Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Forty-three
April 2017
Sara Barnett

Steamboats on the river.
Pressed chicken
Salted meat.
I long to taste your eyelids with my tongue.

I have fasted on the fleshy rims of air cells.
Chewed on fantasy and doom.

I wish I had something good to eat.
Some gum.

I am carnivorous no more, just dry.
The rains come in bowls of dust.

Tonight I turned it all off just to hear me rust.
Just remember what it sounded like.
Without the muffle of my cocoon:
The coffin coffer pennies of my sins and all I rue.

To take the wet wool from my ears and


Listen to the world.

Steamboats on the river.
Veins melting in the glass.

These are goings.
Farewells are coming.

And less, much less than that. For who remains to light my bier
and set me on the water?

About Sara Barnett

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