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poet

Rusty Morrison

by this poet

poem

like water in water —George Bataille




Eggs, transparent and sometimes red-veined as insect wings, might be hidden
in bark crevices 

or a scatter of tawny leaves.

The distance between one gestation and the next, a pleat of the dress I wear 
carelessly
poem

my father's dying makes stairs of every line of text seeming neither to go up or down
   stop   
that I make the nodding motion to help myself feel I understand stop
in common with his bafflement I find comprehension alone will not suffice stop

that I

poem

No sensation of falling, which suggests that this condition may be flight.

My eyes might be open or not. My coffee poured into a cup or

onto the countertop. This, a ball of saved rubberbands or the thick clot of tremors

I usually keep deep in the drawer that I can trust will stick

when I