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  • John Wellers

John Wellers: Two Poems


Certain audacity skirts certain sounds,

sounds like sanguine, stars and stashes

of uncooked ideas. Stretched thin in a

taffy repetition; not struck down

—John Wellers


His desert-tan beard covers a

grin like a khaki tarp sprinkled by

sand once buffeted on high winds

and low erosive words.

Lobster legs, then a

buttery slurp, dipped and smacked

by the same tongue like

light rain on a desert beard

“How are you?” precipitates

like a dry-heave. You yank the string

tied between the corners of your mouth

and your shoulders, shrugging

Breaking limbs under unrelenting

pressure, his gut flaunts like the wise-

ass, jovial guru that you evaded

your whole adult life.

“Really, how are you?” he pressures,

bones begin to shatter, shelter

snaps, scatters, scamps, scaffolding

keeps its form but barely holds.

You gush, saturated

eyes twist your heart’s throat

brittle toffee-parts soaked

stiff, turgid; please don’t touch

—John Wellers

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