An Apology For Sharing
 

This argument takes the form of birds pecking. To say "I agree" is not pulling strings and if no one watching becomes so light, all hollow bones and feathers, no sound will escape. I have a scalpel that will not work on a penguin or the carcass of an untrussed chicken sitting in its own congeal. If you disguise it, no one will see. But how to unfold its beautiful stink? So many scattered nests the towers connecting them are made of the thinnest steel, the center of this locus like a recusement, and it hurts when I pull out a bone and under the light speak of striations and gristle and suffer the insistent clucking of a grain-stuffed brooder.  

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Scott Hartwich lives in Bellingham, Washington, where he drives a little bus to make ends meet. His work has appeared in Diagram, Cue: A Journal of Prose Poetry, and Colorado Review, among other journals. He is the co-editor of Greatcoat, a new journal of poetry and creative non-fiction.
E-mail: sahartwich at gmail dot com  

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autumn 2007 | kaleidowhirl
books and chapbooks from authors in this issue