CREATION MYTH WITH CHORUS OF WORMS IN MY BRAIN
nothing springs forward it spills
as it would from a drain pipe
or falling through a solid sheet
of glass. there may have been
a man with a spear. you poured
forth from between his fingers.
shook, the mountains shook again
how will you inherit this want?
trembling like an addict watching
the sugar cool. we cannot address
the world. it’s a history of sculpture
where the heads and dicks
were crushed with a hammer
years before you learned of it.
fever swept the village and boiled
the tongue from every mouth
if something created you it should
have gone to therapy instead.
their roadways thickened at the fringe
with lemongrass and bloodweed
the stage remains empty.
every record of debt shredded and
festooning the central plaza
it was entirely political
ending the way it did.
Jordan Ranft is a social worker and writer living in NYC with his partner and small dog. He writes poetry, fiction, and music criticism. His work has previously appeared in Bodega, Rust + Moth, Bayou, Impossible Task, and other outlets.
Cover Design by Karen Rile