5/24/2018 Poetry By Klae BainterWet Blue Baby Eyes. I wish, my friend, you could’ve seen the light, and the way it made the dazzling orange plastic shine. She said: “I never thought I’d bury my son.” Then wept the phone full of fuzz. Her eyes round and swollen. Stones in frozen earth. Shingle beach. I can see you throwing punches in the cinderblock corner of a basement. Taking what is called modern medicine down your throat. Where it all bubbles up. I’ve seen it, a dark cliché taking the top off. Makes it naked. Flat. The skin literally vibrates, and loosens the joints. It unhinges the knuckles. You pick it. You pluck it. Insects dance on pointed toes between the layers of your flesh-- Nerve endings swing like a tail, so you chase them with burned finger tips. An object in motion, stays in motion until it stops breathing. It just dies on the kitchen floor. With what looks like shame-- and the last thing you tried to do was cover your face with your hoodie. Wide nose blue. Drained. A Heart Huge. Bulbous. Muscle. Liquid pools. And Orchids. You could’ve tried tying off with guitar string pulled tight like tendons. Til the flesh moves. Til the chords pop. Until they glide to the bone. Crab walking with a shotgun, handcuffed, and coughing blood-- Pop Tarts, and tiny dogs. Should’ve found a piece of that. Wish I could’ve found the trail. The tiny dots mark the spot. ![]() Bio: Klae Bainter received his BA in creative writing from the University of Washington in 2015, and will begin master's studies in the NEOMFA program in Cleveland in the fall of 2018. He currently resides in Seattle, WA. Comments are closed.
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