Glass Poetry Press

Volume Six Issue Two

Brian Clifton

The River's Petition

Let me forget the fog is a cloud of broken teeth. * * * I am not a rock who teaches the sailors to break like moth wings collected in a whiskey bottle that bottle couched in whiskey fog. Since I will grow wings lined with canine-teeth to rearrange the skin of sailors … * * * The fog hides rocks behind rocks. They babble the bottles' blown hymns while sailors fur trees in mink fog. * * * The fog can mask its teeth as Atlas Moth wings; * * * I want to wet wings until rocks chisel teeth and fill bottles with fog. Safe-havened sailor and shipwrecked sailor, wish not for metal wings. * * * The solid fog rocks corked bottles like wisdom teeth and gums. The fog teethes on rocks and sailors. * * * My wings fog glass bottles.