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.

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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.