Gagging on an apple
each departing soul a
hopeful tent of oxygen
a bale of farther food
moving like sea in a jar
If he could melt the maze
of tongues shove away
the bible daisies wave
off the transfer tube
before the knees buckle
he might be known as
a purifier caulking
up the Antichrist
before April rainstorms
But his spine runs on
bourbon spite and green ice
Back and forth like a
trembling crow he marks
the spot where the air
rudder goes until she
gasps circles back a
fermata in a wheelchair
Army wraparound shades
propped up blind as
grandmother on
a snowy evening
behind the leather
padded doors of
the US capitol
Craig Brandis lives in Lake Oswego, Oregon and studies poetry at the Attic Institute for Literary Arts in Portland. His poems and reviews have appeared or are forthcoming in Parhelion, Trampoline, Poetry Quarterly, Plume, Alba and elsewhere. A selection of his work was long-listed for the Palette Poetry Emerging Poet prize for 2020. He has been a contributing poet at Breadloaf. He is a volunteer teacher and teaches children online (with an interested parent), about poetry and how to get started writing it.