A heart that snaps arrows,
Honey it’s a tool of evolution.
These love-pacts leave residue
Of breadcrumbs, dilute seas
With champagne and glass crackle,
Cause plastic membranes
Of taxi windshields to
Bubble past underground
Tunnels in streams. Enter
The giant city Jiminy
Cricket’s matchbox bed
Weaved in girder linens.
I won’t amount you
To the bedbug who
Doomed me to scabies
First pocking my shield;
Underfoot, lift me Antaean inches
Off the root-lace flash
Flood left aquiver,
Since I fumigated.
I am the circus tent pitched
Below an infested overpass.
There is longing in minuscule burrows.
Clayton Woolery is a twenty year old child from the Ozark "mountains." He writes poetry because he can't commit to the length of prose. He is self-conscious about writing a biography and would rather just shamelessly promote his poetry collection.
