Tipton Poetry Journal – Spring 2022
Reading Me T. Dallas Saylor Not just my tells but my takes: I lie beneath a shedding tree but you gather the truth in dying brown & yellow fragments; I let blood, let blood run from knuckles because I won’t run but you step in front of my body, eclipse me. When I’ve run my words dry, you read my lines of sight from impulse to climax, ice torched to mist & seed slung to bursting earth & mouth & pulse to pulse & climax. Order for me at lunch. Take my queen.
T. Dallas Saylor is a PhD candidate at Florida State University and holds an MFA from the University of Houston. His work meditates on the body, especially gender and sexuality, against physical, spiritual, and digital landscapes. He lives in Houston, Texas. He is on Twitter: @dallas_saylor.
Night Without Similes Elaine Fowler Palencia Son, I don’t know how to tell you what is happening. Similes are worthless. Your damaged brain cannot grasp the concept of unlike resembling like.
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