Corpus
 
 
Clay

 
Your shoulders become, eventually,
Clay. Night after night
You make an art of it.

When you are asleep, you are quiet,
And I can make you anybody.
I can make you anything
A brick house, straw bundles, boats that depart at night.
I make an art of it.

Your feet harden and dry out.
They grow cold after the hot grass and the wet sun.
Your heart is an empty oven
That after an hour
Has already cooled to stone.





 
 
 
 
 
Notochord
from Henry Gray (18251861).Anatomy of the Human Body. http://www.bartleby.com


Copyright 2012, Jacob Oet

Jacob Oet is the author of two poetry chapbooks: Metamorphosis (Kattywompus Press) and Peeling the Apple (forthcoming, in Fall 2012, from NightBallet Press). Jacob's poetry appears in Cream City Review, Yemassee, So to Speak, 580 Split, and Sugar House Review, among others. His awards include the 2011 Younkin-Rivera Poetry Prize and the 2011 Ohioana Robert Fox Award.



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