Status Updates From Skin Divers

Time is like the painter's lie, no line around apple or along thigh, though the apple aches to its sweet edge, strains to its skin, the seam of density. Invisible line closest to touch.

Time is like the painter's lie, no line sround apple or along thigh, though the apple aches to its sweet edge, strains to its skin, the seam of density. Invisible line closest to touch.

"History chokes on the little bones / of meaning, the little bones / of love." (from "The Hooded Hawk")

"Again we feel / how transparent the envelope / of the body, pushed through the door / of the world." (from the title poem)

I like it so far! Though a lot of the poems I’ve been reading have really, really American imagery. That’s to be expected, I suppose.