Dylan Labrecque

Contributor

Leather slits fit credit cards 

And beasts preserved in clear gray sleeves In woollen slacks and corduroys 

Faded from the thigh to knee 

I’ve been a speeding cyclist 

Drunk on the submission of the wheel 

Until my confession was expected 

And I buckled prostrate on the curb 

It must have been a starving artist 

Who fed on my boyish shame 

Which bled between the lines of cotton 

In crimson crepuscular rays 

My doubts can rest in heavy metals 

And valves of artificial hearts 

They’re steeped with grease from Teflon frying pans Stained with Botox watermarks 

But there is aspartame in sweet release 

And secret gods behind Eden’s prudish leaves I do not have the nerve to plead 

For such a thing as stainless steel