Featured Poem: Argonaut

By Matt Salyer

I moor my fists to the fixed
continents. Bone unspools
its musculature to the crush

of atmosphere and the continents
remain immobile—now what

jut: my head emergent in original night,
its thatched hair ablaze with constellations.
Night owls gaze and shutter the sleeping sand

where my nose is the prow of a black ship.

Share the Post: