My Love For What Resembles

Flutter and burn, you turn
almost sideways, glinting

like those who lay
un-described and silent.

Lackadaisical birds.

Tell me something other than
your two methods of circumference,

the legality of chloroform,

the two figures lost in the dark
on the other side of winter.

Tell me once I am lost in the middle
of what once resembled a river,

a path filled with the bones of fish and
desert and dead leaves.

And then, I look up to the sky
that is almost raining, that is almost nothing

without branches, the scorched blue,
the not-blue, in the distance.


About mckenzielynntozan

McKenzie Lynn Tozan lives and writes in South Bend, Indiana, where she works as the Departmental Secretary of English and World Language Studies at Indiana University South Bend, and remains closely affiliated with 42 Miles Press, New Issues Poetry and Prose, and Wolfson Press. She previously received her MFA in Poetry from Western Michigan University, where she worked as the Layout and Design Editor for New Issues Poetry and Prose and as an Assistant Editor of Poetry for Third Coast. Her poems have appeared in Encore Magazine, Sleet Magazine, Rogue Agent, Thank You for Swallowing, Whale Road Review, The James Franco Review, The Birds We Piled Loosely, and Analecta; and her book reviews have appeared on her website and on The Rumpus. She lives with her husband, their daughter, and three cats. For more, visit View all posts by mckenzielynntozan

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