Maya C Thompson

Preterit Eviction C17

Eighteen attempts at steering the curriculum in the carriage,
and it is near impossible to forge the bit with the master

who thinks the Morab should have no time alone in his quarters
to push the steel which opens a channel for its tonsil beetle to flutter,

but I am your mutual friend who was shrunk into the search box
upon the control f window sill as I mean to give you the antonyms

against the centaur in which I narrow your recursive attention,
like the blacksmith quenches the mosaic—this is my final desert.

Before this pilgrimage, I was your earnest trestle
slammed by coal freights that shifted to your wireless sleep.

My rope is tied to my belt and my belt is looped along the darkness.
The more I pull this thinking gadget toward the grommet

that is strung in the closet, my vowels part like an intercom.
Their gallops will soon be mute like sneakers trod on our beaches.

I exile you to the hooves’ abscess when you scout my body,
the last apocopated sound.

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Maya C Thompson is a poet from Maryland. Her work is forthcoming in The Tusculum Review and appears in The Scarab. She enjoys playing instruments and watching films.