Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Thirty-five
Summer 2014
           for Feng Sun Chen

Elisabeth Workman

Mary, Mary, I slime surfaces
with my slow writhing style.

It is a remedial compassion
when I should be writing

to the crisis of my wife
low-lying flickering nimbus

in the court of quite contrary
but as you say       What anyway

is a person? First, sequined,
limited hyacinth, omniscient herd

or whore if the first revolution
was loneliness what should we expect

for the last—a moaning
oneness? autodidactic asphodels?

united disaster witches dissipating
widespread spells of identity

copywritten by a new quantity T.S. Eliot? He
was hysterical and so am I

straddling these broken-down over-
large cars. I don’t like making statements

is also a statement. The first person
dies over and over again

in a point of view abandoned
for centripetal spinning is the burning estate

is clamor is beautiful oozing from the electric
gash is never enough

About Elisabeth Workman

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