I STILL GO OUT EVERY NIGHT DETERMINED TO COME BACK BRUISED.

Above the North Atlantic, his lola miles away––her endless hands his face hasn’t fallen into since ‘03, a red hibiscus perched on her windowsill he’s forgotten the scent of.

those glass doors that were left unlocked/since people like this can afford to trust

Remember the fire too easily extinguished/along the tongue’s long hallway

In the future, we find our names on/hurricane watch lists.

you’ve got pretty good at swimming, at holding your breath, at having your body hooked and then knifed and then used for its oil.

Mama, I bought the farm for you.

shank snapped, sawed/and split to three-quarters

One poem by henry 7. reneau, jr.