Skip to content →

Horizon

Joyless,

devotedly boyless.

Everything,

the way

nothing is.

The point is this:

make

me less

than the lake

in the sheets.

The horizon

just above sex:

my thoughts

and prayers—

spots

and short hairs.

My itch;

my side-stitch.

Every day

can’t

be lament.

An excuse

to lose

my shirt

for charity.

I feel,

if not real,

neon-real.

Sterile as hurt,

or parity.

from ProprietaryFind it in the library

Copyright © Persea Books 2017
Used with the permission of The Permissions Company, Inc.
on behalf of Persea Books.

Published in Poems Randall Mann

This program is supported in part by a grant from the Idaho Humanities Council, a State-based program of the National Endowment for the Humanities.

Any views, findings, conclusions, or recommendations expressed in this (publication, website, exhibit, etc.) do not necessarily represent those of the Idaho Humanities Council or the National Endowment for the Humanities.