to the business of language

we are not the same
i light a cigarette in that distance

in order to see what i see
you need tinted sunglasses

bluing what god touches. these
are the stakes, when i take my skirt

to the stovetop
and a champagne flute to sleep i learn

a new word: doxology
load my gun

into the lyric, place sound reason
on flowers

in aural harmony, and begin
to read. in each word we arrive

there’s no parallel for it
what you can’t pronounce

has turned against you
each letter like a molecule

secures its meaning
relationally. her sister died

in a car crash, now she
gives road head, we

have attuned ourselves to the directive
a broadcast
​
from the shore of sufferance
i end. the song starts up again

Back to: Issue Ten

Next: Sneha Subramanian Kanta

Scout (they/them) has poetry published in HAD, Hot Pink Mag, and Ursus Americanus press, with poems forthcoming in dream boy book club and lowly dirt children. They live in San Francisco with their girlfriend and their cat.