Current Issue About Editorial Note Archives Submitting Links		Nicole Oquendo “the iron hook” you’d grip the iron hook and pull enough to seat my brain just so to leave me needing an obsidian knife to trace my skin to go the lungs the heart washed and jarred when it’s time to wash my body in the bathtub sputtering you can pretend i’m him “with horns and hands” i dig to you with horns and hands / when you turn the world i dangle there from hoof to sky with no air left for mewling / you fill your scales with molten lead rising only vapors turned to stars Next Poem
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