Evening Will Come: A Monthly Journal of Poetics (Issue 24, December 2012—Trans / Queer Issue)

the night she dreamed that all my fingers wore rings

this ring beds me like glass no

like ice like the sliding in

satin repository of public

admiration this ring affixes

a glare

like brash knuckling this ring raises

like a warm contusion blushing

like a worn and pliant bridle

this ring smacks of a drag

like an abraded cable flossing a pulley

this ring is either one or the other

a duel or a draw

 this ring alters after a fashion

  this ring pours me further away

this ring wreathes like a tire swing’s

 futile tread

this ring sheds me like blood spills

me as if i will spill rings like sheets

of mirror as if i will forget

what to see on the backs of your eyes

or how to hear the story in your voice

this ring is as persuasive

as water

it turns out

 their names

are all the same

call one and they all

churn up like silt

file past