Glass Poetry Press

Volume Two Issue Two

John Sibley Williams

from And Then Like a Saber

Upon the placemats set before us, yesterday's desserts spoil, the fruit our teeth grit taste of a heart when they taste of anything at all. The subsiding rain left us bejeweled sabers vainly hungering, forged so precisely for purpose and hoping ours are the hands to murder by. We bleed the summer cows, blanch hides and fleshes from the misunderstood light, and roll, exhausted from the effort, away from our ripe, passionate disasters.