Ariana-Sophia Kartsonis

THIRST

If you ask what’s become of me
I have to point to a stranger
on the street and say if there’s prayer left
inside that body
it’s blue-skinned and shaky
it’s dog-eared and barely breathing.

If there’s a way out make it magenta
and shrill, tearing at the upholstery.

At night, when the trees are mascara
sketches against a weeping sky,
I fingerpaint on a rented wall.

And you, I know what you mean,
every old-time barbershop wounds me,
the pole’s warped twisting,
the red stripe that never escapes,
the invisible knife, a spiral of apple skin
falling away and away.

Location:	Tuscaloosa, Alabama
Occupation:	Teaches literature and composition at the University of Alabama
Email:	litany42@yahoo.com
Publications:	Absinthe Literary Review, ACM, Denver Quarterly, Mississippi Review, Optic, Third Coast, Slope, etc.
Editor of:	Words on Walls

- March 2003 - Objects Waiting to Be Dangerous A Collection of Parts in Search of the Girl Paw's Long Term Memory Begins To Rot Thirst The Attempt Red feral cat on the green table The Lawyer Meets Friends He Hasn’t Seen In Years - Stirring's Best Photography - lipstick Make-up Erotica Vanessa Feline Behavior Music Bathtub