Another glacial age folded in upon itself recedes toward the poles from this motherland of mine Leaves a broken whalebone comb and ash and ice in drinks It melts and dilutes the spirit same as anywhere else I suppose But I am at least accepting the half-solid and unresolved inconclusion that I did get roaring drunk at the party anyway where I played piano loud and clapped my cousin on the shoulder with a cheer for things like sobriquets and likelihood and destiny But when I awoke today with the stale whiff of woodsmoke clinging to my clothes I knew I was still somehow doomed to abstraction
TONY HAMILTON lives in New York, where he is pursuing an MFA. His work has appeared in Poetry South, The OPEN Journal of Arts & Letters, The Decadent Review, The Texas Poetry Calendar, and elsewhere.
Cover image by Dréa Collage
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