Premiere Generation Ink.


late autumn on spring.

Cement stoop
cold ass wearing
Watermelon
and waiting for deliverance
Headlight pans
Neck tilts
Watching while
night air makes my fingers
stiff.

You'll be in that car
You'll look at me
and talk to her
Knee grab
and the smell of your
popcorn clothes
Thick pitchers
of moons and absolution.

This railing is
parallel
and ice metal
and blue
fucking turquoise
and how can that be
But against city grass
dirty sidewalks
crumpled cigs
It's okay
This backpack hell
of a Metropolis
makes the ugly natural
and I shiver
Wishing you would hurry.


Erin Duehring

This poem is appearing in the Book
twenty-three

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