by John Compton
we are rust
or maybe rustic
*
our hands are searchlights
our lost bodies’
buoys
pulled & pulled
*
years find us
searching backwards
too late to mend
too stubborn
*
we fight the current
to have space still separate:
our shadows between waves
john compton is a 33 years old gay poet who lives in kentucky. his poetry resides in his chest like many hearts & they bloom like vigorously infectious wild flowers. he has published 1 books and 2 chapbooks: train ride elsewhere (august 2016) from Pressed Wafer; that moan like a saxophone (december 2016) from CreateSpace; ampersand (march 2019) from Plan B Press. his latest chapbook titled “burning his matchstick fingers his hair went up like a wick” from dark heart press (summer 2020). Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/josh.compton.12914