In every wholesome market

As in every wholesome market, my heart’s out
On the farm scale, weigh it once and drain the blood

Weigh it once again, that pink pale throwrug heart
My full and bloodful heartweight, the heaviness of

All my heavy blood, in Russian weights and dwelling
Between long limits, well you’ve spilled it now

So what’s to stop the universe from drawing
Now its pound of flesh, the vendor wants

His pound of flesh, his dagger sharp and
Wagging as a fang, lay yourself upon the table

O the open market, the rogues and shadows
The liquid crowds, the myths in passing now

The market cracking now, the vendor laughs at how
I tuck my pale heart back into my ribcage basement

Shy from his seagone face

Daniel Parsons earned his MFA from The Writer’s Foundry at St. Joseph’s College, where he now works teaching composition to students who speak English as a non-primary language. He lives with his wife and young son in Brooklyn, NY. His poetry and fiction have appeared recently in Modern Luxury’s Manhattan and he was a featured poet in River Styx’s Hungry Young Poets reading series.

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