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Elixir
I never liked it when a lover called my skin soft
of course it is soft. And my nerves
I have mixed feelings when their signals alarm
that the body burns
as hills of bur-oak and bracken
subducted, compressed to metamorphic rock—mouth of
feldspar.
It would be simpler to kiss the electrical outlet when blue
but I have mixed feelings about lights in the brain.
At the sanitorium,
what voltage did it take to dull great-grand-mère?
Her 3 daughters unlatch, latch the garden gate so neatly.
Hysteria—womb—occurs without lesions or
blood.
I have mixed feelings about the condom-fisherman’s welfare
as he combs the harbor for our benefit.
Why won’t he hide his metal rod in the lightning storm?
Tap the funny bone twice to call upon the destroyer.
Ask him for a better joke.
This body is tired now but wants you to believe
it can dance.
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Brandon Lewis lives and teaches in NYC. He received an MFA in poetry at George Mason University and is the former poetry editor of Porcupine. His writing is found or forthcoming in such journals as Spinning Jenny, Salamander, Poet Lore, Harpur Palate, Fifth Wednesday, Entasis, Fogged Clarity, and Oranges and Sardines.