There is Nothing for You Here

by Steven J. Serafiani

Ferringer:
you are a foal, male
forage graciously. Not one
bit of cork remains
bottled,
split for no one.

Cambridge:
the sun creates shadows, taller
than your intelligence. Upon
every other shoulder
carries,
spittle in reddened beard.

Kanunista:
remember the duvet, woven
it covers wistfully. Spun
like shapes thrown
about,
there is nothing for you here.

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