Andrew Nance

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from Endemic Gospels

Leave thee inside office, post me
speeding up, ineluctable conformity
lying, shipwrecked, the boy dreams
in taps, an alleluia-type cry to keep
from falling into wake, her slip’s
linen slunk down stairs from high’s
panicked silence: closing down
the separation asks to leave, asks: tu
fini? gin-picked by salt & for safe
keeping, sweet-meats, lips prettier
at threshold, still lit from below the
painting on stage, hundreds clung
to feet & et tu slapdash, piece of ass:
consider it: him amid me, its limbs.

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