
Beatrice Iker
Poem #4: woods&metals

sea shells jangled
on her locs
thick as those
who thieved in daylight
her walk was feared
by those of simple
lacking minds
vibes, hearts
the strip of skin across
her aluminum lips
plumped in a way, not cold as day
but damp and warm as night
“where are you going?”
“the metal, does it hurt?”
honey, thick and sweet falls
in line with the gummy, tart
is that olive or coconut
oil in her hair
wrapped, encasing the strands
swinging with her, saxophones, bands
automated skin
breathing roots
tungsten and wood
molten high top boots