Shannon Hozinec
​

Dark Madder
 
             Instead of fever,
let clot and clover.
             Snarl of nettle
in hair.  Snout wet
             against belly.  When is
a body not a body? Bruted,
              it can only gesture
at being.  When it is apart,
              it is apart.  Heft silhouette
to bruise, to blunder.  Waste not, want—​
               for nothing. Correct
what does not bend:
             hand slotted neatly
between breast and hip. 
              What is leftover when unmuted? 
A bowl of teeth.  Keening bouquet
            of body.  A smile,
palimpsesting through bone.




Shannon Hozinec lives in Pittsburgh, PA, and selected other poems can be found at Deluge, The Bakery, decomP, Boston Accent Lit, and Palette Poetry.




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