Away, Away with the proper balm. I ain't got long to stay. I saw what you saw—
I did. Weeped. Away, skin on the white bone. Nothing to be sent. Away, with the homing
dog. Draw back your bow. Away with what ain't locking. Away, don't stop yourself from ticking—
control & bifurcation. &: the ear's locking &, the Away of the thing that
is born, &, is dying Away, &, steal & take what is dying, Away, Away,
&, at last, I would rather not know, I would rather sharpen what belongs to others—
last—draw back the crown. Away, Away, passing, then, one, &, raw, over, over. Away.
The map, please, request—live here, put the finger down, over here, & there, ladling, with
me, & by me, & for me, & Away with morning, with night, &, Away, with the
clearness, with the other side, the slave, the salve, &—



It seemed the brightest spot, the bride &
divinest Man, the crumbling light through which

we've been mistaken. Lovers,
dry-boned & through-lit in boa-born

spaces. O Fuck.
We decided—

civility cannot charm.

It is not an issue of the
sovereign Rights of your eyes—


it is.
The Foe & its Order
are un-braiding now.

Bone over
your Swearing & grafting—


& fidgety picks—

Farewell. Farewell. Farewell. The Mur-
derer's Tick left you in the Luck—

He saw my gown—


It seemed the

Right of

kings, lit through
with Calypso's

salt & luminous
turns of orange, it seemed, to fill the

vats with us, Royal shriving
breaking vows

in the Shaft, over Junk—mobile we were
not, yet, not filling up—

Laura Carter is an MFA student at Georgia State University in Atlanta, where she has been fortunate to find a rental situation for herself and her five pets: Viola, August, Aba, Sinéad, and Esmé. She has work forthcoming in Memorious, HazMat, Mantis, and Vs., and recent work has appeared in No Tell Motel, can we have our ball back?, and International Poetry Review. She maintains a strenuous blog at