Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Forty-one
Summer 2016
 
He Waited for Me in My Infirmity Dream
Jessie Janeshek

Sore is the sad whistle
our treehouse turned inward

when you skin my hide
     light the watermelon candle

say let’s hear him bleat
together sometime



when I draw claws on bricks
     miss his dark insides
the cold fucking I called precision



I pop heart-shaped painpills
     abide my creation myths

                                    hooked in the old shack
                                                                       fake chokechain tinkling

About Jessie Janeshek

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