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.
Polyopia
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
suddenly
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
Orbit
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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