Roadside

by Annah Browning

Goodbye, begotten animal.
_____In the world where you

were beginning, I was. My fender
_____unfurled you like a flag,

and flung. My wasted one, my peerless
_____adjective, whispering

away. And I’m not real out
_____in the open. And pavement

goes clear like a rush when there’s
_____light. And no one told me

fortunes, fades my blisters,
_____will know my sins. I can’t

walk like this anymore. Elbows
_____high. The old witch grass

sawing me up: the predicate marks,
_____the red italics of love.


Read Annah Brownings’s House-Sitting and Woman in the Diorama

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