My frog body bent in tandem with the curves
I pass ghosts, the husks of sometimes rivals
slick with winning. The horizon inks west
and lends a separate heat to blot the land.
I pass ghosts, the husks of sometimes rivals.
They wear my face, my formula, it shapes
and lends a separate heat to blot the land,
puts three letters in my mind, teaches me grandstand.
They wear my face, my formula. It shapes
three notes, a streetlight, checkered background,
puts three letters in my mind. I grandstand
bound to a fixed point, tapered to touch you,
three notes, a streetlight. Checkered background,
slick with winning, the horizon inks west
bound to a fixed point. Tapered to touch you,
my frog body bends in tandem with the curves.
Ben Cartwright has a sister-in-law who used to love frogs but became inundated so now has forsworn them. Ben is also the author of two books of poetry—After Our Departure (Sage Hill) and The Meanest Things Pick Clean (Floating Bridge). Find more Ben things at https://linktr.ee/bencartwright.