Who killed the pork chops?

by Gabriel Jarman

 

Swaggering liberal patron dubs my haircut

“the siege of Sarajevo,”

Carthaginian peace with my dead cell legacy.

Short on fingers to count my days since coked out sunrises

better problem.

Ribs poking through like spring

invest in the fabled cast iron skillet.

Body struts back in purring for affection

this constant demand feed me love

famine years gleaner dizzy with the possibility of the next furrow

staring up at her like the clock at the end of the shift.

This is Gabriel Jarman's debut publication. 

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April 2018

© 2020 by The Esthetic Apostle