The Earth Has Rings

by Peter Milne Greiner

Hey his mouth does stutter afieldly

passable clearance when pulled on
like drawstrings   We nightly concoct

this patois from such scratch as limbs
provide; we umpire and replicate,
I pantomime his treesap pulse and wonder

so succinctly where talk hides at times
like this, when every second capsizes like

leaves before downpour and alphabets
thrive and die off between them, when
these routine ambuscades begin in the

diaphragm, end in accelerations, dishevel
further that sophisticated gibberish

we murmur like stamina into each other

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Peter Milne Greiner studied poetry at The New School. He has work forthcoming in Fence, FAQNP, and eXiT sTraTa. His book reviews appear sporadically in You're Beautiful, New York. He lives in Brooklyn.

Read Peter's discussion of this poem over at the Roundtable!