Ephram Pratt Wilts Like a Black Tooth

It was late in the morning
when he arrived,

dark as half a zebra
leading into a maze,

a labyrinth actually,
like a centaur bleeding.

Late mornings can be cold
as mangos in winter,

or warm, even hot,
like pus in a black tooth.

He dressed the way he did
because of the wandering Jew

he met circling the moat,
the one who had been

skulking around the outskirts
of the silk desert,

dreaming beef Burgoyne
laced with pain killers,

the ones he knew
nothing about,

but still standing, limping
within the starlight.


Jack Lorts

About Jack Lorts

Jack Lorts poems have appeared widely in little and literary magazines over the past 40+ years, including Arsenic Lobster, Fishtrap, High Desert Journal, Haggard & Halloo, etc. His most recent chapbooks are "Dear Gilbert Sorrentino & Other Poems" (Finishing Line) and "The Meeting Place of Words" (Pudding House). He is currently Mayor of Fossil, OR.
Bookmark the permalink.

Comments are closed.