- The Ones I Love
They’ve always called me Ox. Now, some of them don’t. The moon raises cities in us as we go. One of us became nothing—a rookery of stars that smash-landed in the darkness. I don’t sleep well anymore. A glass bulb sits in the back of my throat. I speak in ideas about how to bury the dead. I speak in moons and earth. There is no antidote for the amount of silence I’ve swallowed. I’m as big as the world. I carry every sentence into the distance. [End Page 8]
Terrance Owens has an MFA from Eastern Washington University. His poems have appeared in PANK #7. He works as an editor in Minneapolis.