shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

JW Burns



Toasty crumbs shine the water
but I ignore the sun, speak as if there's been no creation
quick as a ghost crab forming this petrified fluency.

Hiding from the sun, a satellite around
the hospital bed, my twinkling green light pecks out
an orbit, red eyes afraid to look away
from that hungry arm outside the sheet.

Small and cold
someday I'll wash myself with the sun,
happy inside the wet faces where the waterpark meets
minus another world, where heat cools my mouth