Lucas Dean Clark
Crossing
With rusted river at my throat,
I hoist a cheap fishing pole
and a trash bag of clothes
over my head.
Through water I shiver
quiet enough
to not offend crawfish
asleep under sunken logs.
Black minnows nibble
on my thin ankles,
but I want them to remember me
by words, not flesh.
I wish my words
sounded like raccoons
brushing their teeth on needles
of fallen pine branches
without craving anything sweeter.
________________________________________________________________________________________
Lucas Dean Clark is attending Bowling Green State for an MFA degree in Creative Writing. He writes about his dreams often and has a reoccurring nightmare where he is chased by black-haired dogs. He also walks in the woods like a ghost.