after Claudia Emerson’s on leaving my body to science
Pack the forests away in this dyed night,
I won’t need them anymore, hair of thin
cigarette smoke, trunk of posed opium.
I is a liminal state.
This scalpel has become a familiar,
listed in known accomplices.
My blood blister becomes an artefact
to be observed by medical students.
I becomes noncompliant,
an unnecessary baggage claim
of this mortician’s cadaver,
eyes sown as tight as buttons.
Grant Tarbard is a form of jellied molecules that loves ice cream. These molecules are the author of Loneliness is the Machine That Drives the Word (Platypus Press) & Rosary of Ghosts (Indigo Dreams). Upcoming books are Dog (Gatehouse Press) & This is the Carousel Mother Warned You About (Three Drops Press).