I Eric America

In this origin story, the moon crowns three people:
the mother, her children. In the original glory
a girl might birth her own brother. In this roiling
storehouse: relics from Delos, Sicily. Safe vests
for travel to Mars. In origin-storage: bloodroot.
Wet bulb. Torsi. Here and there worry seeps in
to rewrite the corm of the fathers. In its oaring
through woe, the tale will take in some deer. A dog.
This story’s original flora count locusts. Dogwood.
Fir trees. This tale refers to the genus of shrub
artemisia, holy mother of absinthe. Don’t you just
love how absinthe abs its way right smack into the
in the—exactly how epics start out: In the beginning,
maybe a girl ago, an original glory brined everyone kin—