This gin tastes
like leaves and pines
that have soured over time.

The ground crackles under
feet, the carcasses of fallen
weak twigs, discarded, break and crack.

The winds pick up, pushing
till goosebumps erupt but
not yet, not yet, just get

the firewood, before becoming dark,
because this gin tastes
like strong tea smells

when leaves seep too long.
The scene is blurry,
this path in twilight.

Edges are rough and tired,
giving up and evaporating
into the brown air.

This gin tastes like
sleeping after shaving
with no clothes on.

Zetetic separator

—Anthony Lograsso is a graduate of MSU, and currently is awaiting to see if he gets into any MFA programs. If not, he would like to be an editor of some sort or a technical writer, and he would love to hear of openings (hint hint).

Leave a Reply