Love Is a Ship of Fools Crash­ing into Re­vival­ist Shores

The Iowa Review - - MATTHEW GWATHMEY - Matthew gwath­mey

Let’s ad­mire each other’s vest­ments as we di­vest our­selves, one gar­ment at a time, folded care­fully at the aft. Gaz­ing up to won­der what tree the mast came from, I’ll work on my zip­pers. You can pol­ish your brass hats. Folly just feels bet­ter shed­ding ev­ery­one we’ve known. Stark naked, it’s time for our sideshow in the har­bor. I beg you for rup­ture in rap­tors, a spe­cial kind of flee from the bur­den of re­nam­ing what we pre­tend to be. Try to think of the un­rea­son­able lay­ers we have lost— I think Patches was the name of a shirt I once had. And here come the gulls—why don’t the dead travel in flocks? I can strip any kind of apoca­lypse you trans­mit. And don’t you ever for­get, I un­dressed the salty fish.

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