this disarticulate nature of hope/ of your
hand’s hand’s hands/ reaching out for you/ or your
soul/ for whatever causes the breaking of bones/ and
whatever moment it be/ when you drag the clock’s
free hand in a frenzy/ this is the nature of hands/ to
reach for the fire/ and call it life or longing/ even
after it burns you/ when they burn you/ you will call
all of it branding/ name yourself something like
rudderless/ worthless/ be named demon or lie/
regardless of rejection/ the thing is that suicide/ is
the most loquacious/ if you light a cigarette on a
roof with him/ he will tell you what his real name
is/ where his mother was born/ how his father built
a beast of perpetual motion from his arms/ or his
fists—/ whichever sounds most violent/ look at all
this machinery/ clocks spinning haywire until the
lights go out/ throats grasping words like air/ like
fireflies in a mason jar/ or the last last light/
Last Light
Christopher Latin is an undergrad student at Huston-Tillotson University. He is a poet who grew up in Houston, Texas but currently resides in Austin, Texas. He loves abandoned swingsets, archaic language, crying and reading Ginsberg's Howl out loud until he can not breathe.