for my sister

a poem by Stuart Gunter

I figured you were up to your eyeballs in alligators

but I’d rather have my eyeballs pecked by chickens,

grazing fresh moth ears as I construct a weir for my

mouth, to catch the words and set them in the sparkling

water of your face, dark as a hole in the world.

These are only mistakes if you leave them alone and fail

to take them up as tools. Live each day like it’s gonna

be your last: one day you’ll be right–the electric stations

are places to honeymoon, and I declare my instant significance.

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