Poetry by Jordan Blanchard

Date of Birth

The face is a smock of heirlooms
unleashing a nectar-slick smile on
your mother. The gleaming gulf
is just a bluff masking a beleaguered deluge.
Soon you will meet its edge to wet your feet.
Your babble is just a regurgitation of your past life,
all your old muck purging itself.
Clairvoyance will offer herself to you in due time.
Appearing in pulses up the collarbone.
The afterbirth once returned to the earth will
nourish the worms and their soil.
Slack drops of rain slip off
the grass and the garden flies flee.
Bathe here in storm. There are plenty of years
for you to fidget in your skin.
You will learn to wallow in time.


if you can feel your rolls resting against
themselves   you are not a body   you are
the after image of unsavory skin
echoing in negatives   unfinished
contours unclassed and the brain unquiet
the itch of mirage
phobia of your likeness in 4D
unperturbed by the dark underside of
your eyes   blinking to shake the sand   erase
the image and replace it with daydream
   sweep sinew and excess stretch marks under
the rug but savor the bones and the tongue

supper is being served      your belly aches


my jaw has been restless for its own embrace for the better part of a month

the two halves unclassed, constellations anticipating an intersection of trajectories

molars creating a new horizon in my mouth

i have come to rival the heaviest of stars

Jordan Blanchard

IG: @yourunclecozy

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