Paper River
- wateryourcellphone
- Oct 7, 2025
- 1 min read
Jack Tricarico
The gray stripe of your face
At low speed circumspection
Isn’t the place for pinpoint aura analysis
On the ruined page look how you dry
Chalk mummy sits with her dust sarcophagus
In drapery of mud. Black is an orphan
The air you resemble. A bed for your nerves
Coherence is wet plaster. It offers you a choice
Wreck of entwined hills. You wear them like water
The lake of your knees. Gray sun
Sees lumps of covert routes. Half oval
Half tusk. Something insists on being unmade
In silver painted rain, mauve fades, beige idles
The swan muddle globs an embankment
Mush for your hair. Spring on its hoofs
Once there was you, and so many reasons
Not to go out. Daylight was too far
And you preferred posing. Pass me the vodka
I’m an ambulance on ice
