Scott Ferry
poetry as a type of monkhood

sometimes people give me respect for my poems
treat me like i am something special

but this always makes me feel uncomfortable
in this vow i have taken there is no special

only listening
only skinless in the cereal aisle

only coelacanth spleens from the bottom of trenches
only an ache like splintering femurs

only silence in the dark five years old
heart blistering in the ears

only an unhealthy longing for a pretend god
only an envelope on a web

only an opal
only