naomi. well you don’t know what it is to say someone’s name. my dad, he’s got a narwhal tusk in a rifle case, brings it out with the good rye. he gets the sort of visitors who don’t mind. he’s a collector. i kiss you above the large terminal mouths of the fish, boat-detached mermaid pinned in figurehead shook loose with lips to use again. he’s not a crook, just crooked – stripped the blue whale down at cyril’s beach but left the bones behind. someone else came along, and now the department’s got a witness. you can’t even buy coats this far south, naomi. no-one shoots nothing anymore, and i think unkindly of those russians, shivering in the skins of others through snow or wet chalk. their cheeks were red, but – keeps the cold out, yes it can keep the cold out.
Steps Magazine's second Fall semester issue.