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Poems by Evan Nagle
At a Train Junction Near Foss Lake, Utah
To Yietsa who brims with madness,
To old Adam who fuckheaded his ribs into the bowels of his very wife
In the beginning, when the bedroom began, I took to you. I stumbled in: Your hair of wildish pores, your hands and everything crooked teeth. What a moan you moaned, like nouns and noons and speeches unbound, all precious to the whipping heart of mankind. And what a mouth arose, soft and suckling still, extracted from a thousand oils, from a multitude of rots, and awake, and up.
Tonight, I lug these feet of two, to the train, to eastward, to leave you. From Barstow to Midwest like the drop of a blouse. I bear the butcherings of our every lovely word, like love, like hope. And this train scrams swift and swiftly and drifts inside its dull and mostly dark. And black daughters kiss the blackberry cheeks of their babies. And a heavy Ohio somewhere awaits, unfolds its moon for me, lends its many midmorn patrons to sleep. And my palms hold nothing held. My palms sit so, so lonely in the nakeds of themselves.
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