: Sonnet (with Language from Clothes Crumpled on My Floor) :
an excerpt by Craig Blais
When I ask if you feel as empty as me
after, you tell me your whole life story: white sand
and neglect. I learn more from reading the waistband
of your G-string panties—Rampage Intimacies
Made in Macau—as I pick them up before the cat
gets at them. You want me to ball them up and shove
them in your mouth, a makeshift muzzle
with a strip of duct tape. But I want a salad.
I’ve lived in as many places as your clothes have
manufacturers—Honduras, Wichita, China,
San Francisco, Lesotho, Seoul, Downtown LA,
North Florida—and I’m sure this isn’t the last
place I’ll seek the “geographical cure.” 99%
one thing a tag reads. And 1% something else.