Off Beat
Albert Thomas And when I jump through the window, broken like balance, you’ll think I was dissatisfied with conditioned air. He never learned to be cool, you’ll think, or draw water from heat, or unravel his bones. Why compare me to a cucumber? I can measure everything by the dirt beneath my fingernails (twelve grams tufted, each scratch a snare drum), and I’ve never found merit in feet unswung. After all, we live lives in lists, each line a ladder. To count the steps would be to count each question dead against our soles, or fight off our feet, or puff privilege in plumes, or never dance. |
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About the Author: Albert Thomas is a poet living San Francisco, CA. He is an alum of Yale University, where he studied Political Science and African-American literature and poetry. Albert’s poems have appeared in Podium, and Radius Lit. He recently received a nomination for the 2016 Pushcart Prize.
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