by Brian Morrison


He’ll take you
home, the scalpel

man & his slow

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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