Country Music
an online journal of poetry
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Jessie Janeshek

Orphan Lines

I baste in sunlight
tie-dyed by your bike chain
mesmerized when you feed
each crow a slice of my back
ask me to leave
my sack of orange songs
on the ark while an oil truck
barrels by. I obey humbly
fresh out of yellow sauce
astroturf, methodone. Pull off
the tip of your thumb.
Alone and forsaken
shaped like a spade. Maggots
bore holes in your totems, Emzara
like scars charcoal snakes
leave on the side of the road.