3 Poems | Nathan Wade Carter

WET SANDWICH

A lot like birth.
A boa constrictor coils around me.
Not crushing.
This mortal snake
slow dips me into the ocean.
A wet sandwich.
A naked man to not look at.
We delete in new ways.
Charged and expensive.
Written by a chicken.
The muse tosses you an anvil. Continue reading “3 Poems | Nathan Wade Carter”