Lunar gears grind and build
nocturnal arguments of sorrow
next to my door. 

Why wish for the ashen pleat of skin
heavy slough of stillness
marbled over muscle
                                    to suddenly dissipate?

Tissue across floor. 

Zealous scraps leftover in refrigerators.

The past balls up: dirty clothes
forgotten in a sold house. 

My head splits anxious sleep –
coiffed bob
lake placid eyes
relentless lipstick
sliced by grimy skull
shooting lasers from beneath. 

Inside memory,
torture carves out skin slowly. 

Open vista rife with forest
thick honeysuckle air
grayed and sapping as we try
to measure the year
until gutted
                        charred
                                                smoked:
pungent heaven
for hobgoblins.

Joshua Bridgwater Hamilton is a Louisville, KY native who migrated to Texas.  Between, he has traveled and lived in several places, including Spain, Appalachia, Panamá, Peru, the Philippines, and the Colorado River.  Currently, he is an MFA Poetry candidate at Texas State University.  He has two chapbooks: Rain Minnows (Gnashing Teeth Publishing), and Slow Wind (Finishing Line Press).   His poetry appears in such journals as Voices de la Luna, Tiny Seed Journal, Amarillo Bay, The Dillydoun Review and San Antonio Review.