May 2004 / Volume Five / Issue Two
C. L. Bledsoe
Air    

Aristotle lay waking one morning listening
to his lover snore softly as though the world

passed through the boy's nose like breathe;
and then farted, soft and round, a dollop of dough pinched

from his cheeks. His lover did not wake. A man must push
melancholy from himself like air.