I exist where you’ve kicked me
Your boot rings the bell
Cracks the shell
Invites Hell’s inverted
Sisters to rent a storefront
At the bruise’s edge
They bring me home
I join their fan club
I live in a tree
Thinking about the sun
The beehive that has been
My mind exposed
To long pointy sticks
But I exist like an earache
Where I hurt
Where the blood swells and muddies
The skin
I am beginning to see the light
Around my ankles
Give way to my shadow
A dead giveaway
That the world darkens.
Glen Armstrong holds an MFA in English from the University of Massachusetts, Amherst and teaches writing at Oakland University in Rochester, Michigan. He edits a poetry journal called Cruel Garters and has two new chapbooks: Simpler Times and Staring Down Miracles. His work has appeared in Poetry Northwest, Conduit, and Cream City Review.
