by Brian Morrison
He’ll take you
home, the scalpel
man & his slow
business,
his appetite &
ice. He’ll
crack your body
open as
glass built
for shatter. You’ll
wake well sewn in
a tub with
glacier cubes
at your chest,
minutes a kidney,
minus a lung,
he’ll have made
art of you,
a living quit of
skin. Flashes
will come, visions
of sterile blades,
a surgeon’s attire,
your first
smile of the night
at a man with his
bright eyes.
Brian D. Morrison completed his MFA at the University of Alabama, where he was an assistant editor at Black Warrior Review. His poetry has appeared at West Branch, The Bitter Oleander, Verse Daily, Copper Nickel, amongst others. Currently, he works as an Assistant Professor of English at Ball State University.
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