top of page

Cut by Hand

John McAuley

I order myself
into these lines
working from instinct.

I stick to these words,
to the poem, to the craft
day after day,
driving across my content
stretching a form
to shelter me in my age.

––Soon enough to die

My serviceable tent
left in tatters
will flap, aimlessly, against time
& crumble against my bones.

bottom of page