by James Stotts

the crowd’s carrying
the statue of st. anthony
past my door

fruit flies drink my sweat
and bones

i’ve said it a hundred times
there was no rain before
the flood

my survival’s
an estranged western country
of oracle stones

i try to keep my hands to myself
whatever i touch
turns to wine


About the Author:

James Stotts is a poet and translator living in Boston. His work has appeared in journals including Little Star, The Charles River Journal, AGNI, The Atlantic, Action Yes, and Failbetter. His first book, Since, was reissued in 2016 by Pen & Anvil; his second, Elgin Pelicans, will be published this year.