seven men sat
Zircon Circle
very low in their awareness
couldn’t dent the little bus
uh, up, us
up, us, uh
women and chicks
maimed in the bedroom
lips jokingly practicing smacking
where am I now I need me
no lace
no nothing
iust pure
lemon
lime
azure
come in and poke
The Great South
plump coral
white floral
violet
smoulder
Poems by Kenward Elmslie are used by permission of The Estate of Kenward Elmslie.