Andy Stallings

Everything equal,
        a cluster of grapes
               composting.
        Lust was
               utter under
        summer’s
vile writhing,
        plugged in,
               pulsing in
the dear voltage.
        I stung hard.

        Now we are
vibrant at the heart
        of electrical
               disturbance.
               Like wires we
        strike with
devastating chance.

Posted 04/29/10