Category: Cleveland Poets

a wry­neck for Was­covich

If we were rust broth­ers before the rain and salt   Before
there were no scarci­ties of tanks to tread

Before the slow toe    ware­house of sound was a real
knife in my head   Before the shine of steel nativ­i­ty

Before we trussed the tracks for holo­caust   Before
sanc­ti­ty for­est mur­der black-coat cacoph­o­ny

If we are rust, broth­er

Th[r]ough beer stale trac­eries and graf­fi­ti pis­sers
Though rage-cocked shout mas­tery pays no bills

Th[r]ough the bend sin­is­ter wend­ing neigh­bor indo­lent
inso­lence nev­erend­ing

Though weeks pass between fistclicks Though through
the rough thought caus­tic chaos mean­ing emer­gent life spark

Still we rust broth­ers