……….Unless the temples tremble,
this brain burns
few prayers, and this mind
……….minds no shiny Bible
……….when the kind God’s there.
It’s hurt that earns
attention. This hot
……….vein behind this eyeball
……….only learns alertness
by its pain,
and there’s a tender
……….tinder near this ear
……….whose nothing-nature’s
never won a name,
though now its livid suffering
……….proves it’s dear.
……….This hour’s dear
in which this brow’s an altar,
sweating gall
……….like gasoline to grease
……….the angry mass of me
in flames I’ll falter
out of when the graceful
……….burner’s eased.
……….An aimless grief then?
This head wouldn’t say so.
Something briefly smiths
……….its migraine into halo.
George David Clark
George David Clark is an assistant professor of English and creative writing at Washington & Jefferson College. His Reveille (Arkansas, 2015) won the Miller Williams Prize and his recent poems can be found in AGNI, The Georgia Review, The Gettysburg Review, Image, The Southern Review, and elsewhere. The editor of 32 Poems, he lives in Washington, Pennsylvania.
Latest posts by George David Clark (see all)
- Song of the Genie - October 24, 2020
- The Latch - October 24, 2020
- Northern Lake - October 24, 2020
