I PIN INDIVIDUAL STALKS OF WHEAT ON THE STEPPE

The oblong building with fat arms
holding the girders up,
the girders of the former country,
looks at me. I say,
no, you’re sleepy,
recline, great oval.
And it reclines. Blindly
the stained glass gazes
in the direction the planners planned for it.
This is the second time
they have conceived that direction.
The eye duplicates itself
in its green and yellow pool
like a cell programmed by a flag,
its cellular stubs cut off.
I pay for a new blueprint of utopia.
The impaler comes back and impales the gold.
Sliding down the stake
I match the angle of my eye
with the oblong one
along the horizon’s hazy line.

—

from the first issue, recently released, of FOOD

I am sure if you tried hard enough you could buy this first issue somewhere…

—

By Matt Broaddus 👍