“On the reptile map are locations of the green pit viper pala-polanga, which in daylight, when it cannot see well, attacks blindly, leaping to where it thinks humans are, fangs bared liked a dog, leaping again and again towards a now hushed and fearful quietness.”
Threat leaves a stink, a sour trail.
Inhale it, and it ropes you back
to its source.
Fear’s drummer boy, the breath, too,
betrays with its ragged
When you leap, you bite hard,
precision traded for damage, a field
You can groom your scales
in broad daylight, each victim guilty
of being born.
The sidewalk crowd veers wide
around you, the gift or the price
of your calling.
Intuit. Follow the prickle of hairs:
among them is the next one
The Wince Savored
Tell me about the heft of righteousness
in the hand, the percussive wish
to draw blood. Recount the wince
savored on the palate, the sob
that brings you to orgasm. You’d deny it,
but I see your hand itching
for the stone, your sidelong glance to see who
might be watching. Muzzle
to muzzle in a pack, you bring down
those twice your size. Alone,
you claim only the weak. How you relish
each slump on the tongue.
You take small trophies then disappear
before the corpse fully cools.
My head rings belligerence, the swung mace,
the crack of balls, the pricking
of a bull. Hecklers yell Go fuck your mother, the occasional fan
throws a thorny stem. I try to keep my head
up, not piss myself,
avoid what blows I can. The smallest of victors,
I am still standing,
as the streetlamps flare
one by one.
Devon Balwit writes in Portland, Oregon. She has five chapbooks out or forthcoming: How the Blessed Travel (Maverick Duck Press); Forms Most Marvelous (dancing girl press); In Front of the Elements (Grey Borders Books), Where You Were Going Never Was (Grey Borders Books); and The Bow Must Bear the Brunt (Red Flag Poetry). Her individual poems can be found in The Cincinnati Review, The Stillwater Review, Red Earth Review, The Inflectionist; Glass: A Journal of Poetry; Noble Gas Quarterly; Muse A/Journal, and more.