AN EXTERNALIST, by Christopher Davis

denied tenure because he’d felt he had to say
he’d like to lick his chair’s wife’s clit, shut
down.  Outside his lids, his silent, starless cave,
Easter!  Boulders beat up white fires, waves!
Sunrise, time’s big smile, simple, winning,
sinks, thinning into its bitter grimace, fun
light, finally refined, igniting wilder riptides,
quivery, jittery, a kite flying by night, alive!