by Damon Hubbs
you didn’t identify yourself by the river near which you were born
but by how many rooms you could abandon
it was an agonizing passage, after Nice
after the New Romantics, after the wishbone
of your sandals split & blisters swiftly kindled
our line was ending
& we couldn’t get the sound right, or the meaning
does it matter it doesn’t matter
Love brought us to one death
Finale Ligure & the audacity of the sky
Damon Hubbs: gardener / casual birder / lapsed tennis player / author of the chapbooks “Coin Doors & Empires” (Alien Buddha Press) and “The Day Sharks Walk on Land” (Alien Buddha Press) / recent work appears/is forthcoming in Dreich, Crab Apple Literary, Acropolis Journal, Broken Antler, Red Ogre Review, & elsewhere. On Twitter @damon_hubbs.
