Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Thirty-four
Spring 2014
 
False Pilgrim
           Six for Gertrude Stein
Jeanine Stevens

My feet are not quantum
nor measured in brown:
boxes, toggles and bones.

I want more than tossing stones
like vagabond shoes, or something
wild, like snakes on Mars.

Wren catches fortune
in her throat, disturbs,
scatters the wind.

The arena fills with winter rains.
Each clasp repairs, latches
bronze with clean and shine.

The hastened trek brought me
here
my cancelled check keeps me
near.

The borders of Rome never were,
calculations made in error,
turn around, aim the arrow.

About Jeanine Stevens

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