The Afterbody

(For A. M.)


A few of the fixtures remained with light

how hymns are sang tone deaf with reverence and raised arms levitating lord-ward

how jazzness doesn't

live in body, technically, but spreads limbs and spreads out into its shell

how very like a trumpet, a discarded shell

who is squatting whom?


what the raze the fence, the jury

You sure missed the boat, hanging


back while the shells and mortar-fire erase every straight-line foundation erected in

this holy city its reality exercises for the lower body, the afterbody


upon inspection there were no grottoes, caves or

that surface layer spread cornea-deep, tone deaf jazz singing limbs

in body technically, who is squatting the afterbody


the jury hangs itself


how holy, spread limbs

the fixtures remained hanging the lower body


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