SIR

Andrew Michael Roberts

bang

and if god is a great nose hovering
in the firmament, t’was a sneeze
sent the secrets of the universe swirling.

a little lamplight on the particles,
and infinity’s revealed. and
on your paper ladder of prayer, climb up.

there is an ear as well. listen
at the echoing lip your dreams,
some rattling stars yet to be born.

phantom limb

your love—
does it itch

from time
to time

where i
used to be?

spider

theverysmall
poemopens

toaleaf-
slickstreet,
lettingall
thewarmairout.

awaftofrain—
someoldjoy’s
caughtthemquiet
attheirsupperplates,

aquarrelhung
weightlessthere
between,
andwaivering,

astrand
ofsilk.

farthest possible thing

sometimes in the kitchen
in the morning
i will be drinking coffee
in my underpants.

then the unspeakable
urge to belong,
without a word
to throw open
the cupboards
and empty their shelves
at the innocent room.

afterwards, to go
about the day
as if nothing happened
feels unfaithful.

this is when i am
closest to it.

the word

in the poem, a word washes ashore. it glints in the surf like a
pistol, half-buried. as if to say, what is so dangerous? it waits like
that. counting on you to want to touch it.