by Robert Krut

  1. In dusk’s leather sheet, curtains
  2. draw close and closer against a solar
  3. explosion, an atom burst song ringing
  4. through the skyscraper sprawl, its
  5. spine like the corpse hand of a witch,
  6. darkness sewn together by lightning,
  7. the stitch of thunderclaps like bodies
  8. falling on the world’s largest bass drum
  9. while the towers’ breathing gargoyles
  10. grow impatient, their teeth rotting
  11. from the inside out, their wings
  12. turning to tissue paper, to cluttered wax
  13. that will fail their flight on the first attempt
  14. to snatch you up,
  15. limping off mid-air with only a lock of hair,
  16. an iron-seed tear drops not from empathy
  17. but from the inability to rip you apart
  18. when they had the chance.
Packingtown Review – Vol.7, Winter 2015/20156

Robert Krut is the author of This is the Ocean, Bona Fide Books, 2013, which received the Melissa Lanitis Gregory Poetry Award, as well as The Spider Sermons, BlazeVox, 2009. He teaches at the University of California, Santa Barbara, and lives in Los Angeles.

  1. Amanda Tumminaro
    The Eye of the Needlepoetry