A Poem by Cory Adamson
Spread-eagle in the earthen pudding.
That’s the big, cursive “FIN” Smokey,
that’s Valhalla. One Aztec sacrifice
after another to defeat the Sky and Earth
in a staring contest. That’s the climax
to this crescendo, Smokey.
You can bet your firstborn baby on it.
What are we doing Smokey? Fighting a war
with chalk-colored clouds. How many marathons
must a man run before he gets his medal?
I need a brother.
Flat on your back, nose-deaf to the turned
earth, you think of secret isles and
honest politicians. So you build clay wings
and fly like the emperor penguin.