• 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


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