Was a name called not often
by the few sullen expressions?

A caterpillar hugs the blanket edge.

Flick match into burn pile.

Warrant not avowal of moniker?

The strung-outs kiss me on the feet.

Tremble asleep and I will
not check for breathing again.

Asheville is forgotten.

Swinging a gun when the flood
starts like that will do any good.

The Chennai skyline is under now.
The planks of our basilica
are being repainted for judgment day.

It must be below freezing to remember
what you see through a telescope.

Cover the cattle with cold weather blankets.
Cover the mums before it freezes.
Throw the covers over your head

you piss-drunk hypothermic risk.

Andrew Hutto writes out of Louisville, KY. He was recently awarded third place in the 2020 Flo Gault Poetry Prize. In the summer of 2019, he served as a preliminary judge for the Louisville Literary Arts Writer’s Block Prize in Fiction. Presently, he serves on the Pine Row Press editorial board. His work appears or is forthcoming in THRUSH Poetry Journal, Plum Tree Tavern, Amethyst Review, The Weekly Degree°, BARNHOUSE, After the Pause, Math Magazine, Cathexis Northwest Press and Poet Lore. His work has also previously appeared in Eunoia Review.

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