The stubby screws
in the cerebellum
poke out, exposed
to the cold
air. I have to leave
these parts to nestle
in the temporal
lobes, untethered
It’s the best I can do
which means I can’t
put the brain
back on its base
Signature Theoretically, if I were to put my hand against that tree and keep it there for years and years, the bark would continue to grow until it enveloped my hand send leafy tendrils along my arms and under my flesh. But if I were to stand here for a little less time I could […]
Read more "Signature"Mary Shanley is a poet/storyteller living in New York City. She has published four books and frequently publishes online and in print journals. What Did I Do With My Hand? I don’t know what I did with my hand. Is it on my face? Is it in my pocket? You appeared on the street, as […]
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