JAMES MILANESI

my thumb in my makeshift gloryhole

all this silver in my mouth, we lay
talking of how we became our own parents
left to tame wild accusations
of parasitic tendencies in my sweat soaked bed
my heart orbits the front door
trying to get back to you
thumb in my makeshift glory hole
till then.

here’s a concave mold where skin stains the earth
poor little God! wrapped guilty in a stitched blanket of past lovers
there was a shooting in the park—someone recorded it
blood like grease coated over a frying sidewalk
i ask why more of late,

why being early feels pretentious and sad?
here’s the poisoned peace; here we can rot in harmony
poor little Me! my friends searching for their shadow
earmuffed and bandaged; big eyed smiling
you say something when I ask why you’re leaving
my mind permeates the room
trying to find you

James Milanesi is a Philadelphian poet who is retroactively late for work. He is the curator and founder of Poet’s Row. His latest chapbook, Momentary Sweetheart, is published with Bottlecap Press.