which made the poem / feel pretty far away, / though it was standing / in the middle of everything,

which made the poem / feel pretty far away, / though it was standing / in the middle of everything,
RECENTLY PUBLISHED
I’ve shriveled/ into puddle/ pounded/
my bones/ into biomes I don’t belong/
jettisoned the spirit-spin/ at the junction/
of the salacious/ and self-adulation/
like how A vein of ore will fill a fissure. / like how two plates, pressing, will rise.