Bad Luck Cradlesong

by Adam Clay

Do what you will with the dirty pictures of your first lover:
The wind can still bang a screen door off its hinges
And simple myths, like mirrors, will continue to bootlick
In the back of your mind. It seems natural to fall in love
At a funeral, the way a body shivers under weight,
The way those drinks stain the collars of your shirts.
You can look all you want, you can piss into the face of oblivion,
You can turn it on, turn it off again. Staring at the sun
May take your vision, but the light will be infinite
And repeating. When it seems to go, stare hard at nothing,
Think of the dirt in your body, and it will be light again.

Adam Clay lives in Fayetteville, Arkansas and co-edits Typo Magazine. He has work forthcoming in Black Warrior Review and poems in Octopus, Milk, Can We Have Our Ball Back?, Three Candles, and Tarpaulin Sky.

Adam Clay was nominated for Poets Under 30 by the storySouth editors.