Who’d want a burnt chest?
Soaked in vodka, an old fire
barely keeping itself alive.
His shot-out liver might do him in.
At first, it rubs him raw, but it’s an
always-early clock come December.
He needs an ember chest for the ice.
***
Jasmine Flowers is a poet, copywriter, and well-watered garden from Birmingham, AL. She received her BA in English from the University of Alabama. Her poems are published or forthcoming in giallo, perhappened mag, and Mineral Lit Mag. She still wonders if jasmine flowers are her favorites. Follow her on Twitter: @jas_flow.
Rejection Letters 