belt

badly believed & believer—what vigor & shine the beaten egg-beaters w eyes like runny oaks fine refracted this friction—witch question of leather what weren’t feather flocked off me for profit stacks back similarities of voice—& today i want 2 say unnecessary but kneaded lovely it circles like an answer 2 waste is a slow jam w u & honking geese grow migratory dim (not cuz focus—tho we do) cuz evergreen else seeks root love 2—

high-waist buckling to pacific sound

low-slung stipples hips

y perfect isn’t this

what tongue isn’t leather
& language                        

feld crisp

glass ceilings


in the distance colonial
estates derelict their value
tied to capital
long dispersed to dust
their greenhouses still
catch the sun’s dying rays

the vines dismantling
every pane canopies
of banyan and baobab

full of birdsong even the
orchids flourish unbelievably
open air

having wrought
ecstatic changes in color

BRETT SHAW is a poet and educator living in Alabama. Recent work appears or is forthcoming in Colorado Review, Southern Humanities Review, Pacifica Literary Review, BOAAT, and elsewhere. He holds an MFA from the University of Alabama and has received support from the Community of Writers at Squaw Valley.