Will Cordeiro



From within our cells, we can decipher
the enigma code of fireflies. Listen,
and you'll hear the rumors rodents make
scurrying the asbestos lining of our walls.


At Alcatraz one prisoner starved
himself so thin, killing time until
he could slip through the food slot.


I watch a great fat golden spider spirit down
on its translucent noose as thin as Bible paper--
it hovers there and marks time like a pendulum.


I walk the yard each afternoon. Round
and round, my heels dig in and dig a hole
to China. But they've got a wall there, too.


This empty scrim of sky gets permanently dismantled.
By 4 o'clock the clouds asphyxiate in their own blood.

Will Cordeiro is currently a Ph.D. candidate completing his dissertation on 18th century British literature. Recent work appears or is forthcoming in Unsplendid, Gertrude, VERSE online, and New Walk. He currently lives in Tucson, Arizona where he volunteers at the Poetry Center.

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