Three Poems by Shine Ballard

trapped

my fear, a fossil,
amberkept by the resin jar—

and its shaking sounds like salvor

a mind measured, regulated,
situated via moral plaza

subscription, prescripted, what’s
the difference? it’s all just

recovery


pass

   i toe toward
   her goingground
   the way one toes,
   intuitively,
   toward the bathroom
   in the midst of
   midnight’s lack of

     guidance


Poem (it is not anemia)

   it’s twelvetwentythree a.m. &,
   in the livingroom, i am—at rest, half
   sprawled on the couch, half on
   the ottoman. that question gnaws
   at my stuffs, about my mind—
   “You’re okay with just sitting
   around doing nothing?”
What
   if i am? What if i’ve no choice?
   My feet are cold. Exposed from
   beneath the counterpane, beneath
   the ceilingfan. Chilly digits. And my
   cheeks are burning with, stinging
   from an implicit indictment.

   Nature didn’t care. Why should you?


Shine Ballard, the fainéantmanqué, currently creates and resides on this plane(t). Follow him on Twitter at @xShine14.

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