Elizabeth Switaj

Deictic & Existential
New Poems From the USA


Your eye darts
                  at a certain spot
                                                                                     Your hips rounding
                                                                             nearly together
                                                                                                          do not.

Your hair contrasts
   with your chest
                                                                                     Your brain curls grey throughout.

Your toenails grow
    after work
                                                                                     You listen & repeat:
                                                                                     The Comedy Channel.

Your feet replace you
                                   on the ground
                                                                                     You only mouth
                                                                                                                       To be is to be
Your liver can’t be handled
                                                                                     Your hands draw
                                                                                       across the room

Your spine sways
          an orange pack
                                                                                     Your shoulder stream
                                                                                     coconut oil
                                                                                     to keep the leather bags
                                             You point                  And you are
                                                                   . . .