5 July 2009 | Vol. 9, No. 2
When something is rooted in you, it will be difficult to root it out; you are a fungal-faced pig, your own nose is a blight:
The farmer sends you and your children into the woods to puke
up his property. He says, you're wolf meat, now. You're dead
to meat. Hoof it pinkling mama, if you like, but beyond
that forest lies the forest, and beyond that, a tight shut eye
nothings you flat.
Gloaming, you headlong the pack.
Wherever you stand, you are upwind and ripe.
Bullets are water through shank. Traps shriek
gorge bound, and not a single infant
in the housemuck sleeps
through the night. No match you tender wiggly.
No flare.
Notes on this piece:
You are reading the alternative presentation of this poem; you can view it in its intended format—in a fixed font—here.
About the author:
Danielle Pafunda is author of My Zorba (Bloof Books 2008), Pretty Young Thing (Soft Skull Press 2005), and the forthcoming Iatrogenic: Their Testimonies (Noemi Press 2009). She curates poetics forums at Delirious Hem, and is an assistant professor at the University of Wyoming. More can be found at her blog.
For further reading:
See the complete list of work by Danielle Pafunda at 42opus. Browse the contents of 42opus Vol. 9, No. 2, where "When something is rooted in you, it will be difficult to root it out; you are a fungal-faced pig, your own nose is a blight:" ran on July 5, 2009. List other work with these same labels: poetry.
