by Bailey Cohen
At this point, everything I touch
becomes something sharper. Dirt is mostly iron
deposits. Buoyancy seems far too strange
for something worth reliance. That humans
float is no fault of their own. I have been rusting
rapidly. I have been necromancing my own
ghost. Reminder: failure does not equate
immortality. Reminder: even God is sometimes
frail and that His taste hangs off my tongue
like passionfruit even sometimes—surely, you understand
the implications of all this. There are certain things
I can only remember to myself. Despite my wings,
I dangle like a human. I love what is particularly
unremarkable. By this unit of measurement,
I have already accomplished most things.
I have swum in shallower bodies of water
than this one. What I desire, I must manifest.
I am the stillest lake. No earth can hold me.
Bailey Cohen is a queer Ecuadorian-American poet studying at NYU. The founder of Alegrarse, the Associate Editor for Frontier Poetry, and a Best of the Net nominee, his work appears in or is forthcoming from publications such as Boulevard, Raleigh Review, [PANK], The Penn Review, Up the Staircase Quarterly, Boiler Journal, and more. Bailey can be found across most social media platforms @BaileyC213. He loves everyone Latinx.