JUSTIN COX
from Stock Pond
.
wound infected the
horse kicked it in
to being the front of
the calf in front of
what’s left of iron what’s
left on the barn beyond
which everyone threw
square bales
into
orbit again
a big flatbed trailer
pulled along
near idle
the needle
in the leg
a drain
washed with water washed
with autoclave
.
clocked in w
the face
clocked in w
the face
caved in
microexpression
spraying down
the pens
to look across the way
rock to the face
today a smooth rock
held up
to the face from
the beach
today Magritte
tomorrow De Chirico
.
dog dip sheep dip
ladled
on the blanket back
hound
ears dusted and
gooseberry ticks
fall out
the dog lifts its head from
the hay its head from
the box the shade in
shape the dog lifts its head
stands and
drinks from the pan
.
I run the chute
lever necks in thick piping
administer shots
what I care about
is getting back to town
I get stickered
a bedfull of shred
and peel out as much as possible
a barista of burnouts
leaf shapes on the square
the fuck they gonna do
I pour a little toad from my shoe
––––
Justin Cox’s writing appears or is forthcoming in Annulet, Chicago Review, Mercury Firs, River Styx, Tagvverk, and elsewhere. Justin teaches at the University of Iowa and has been a fellow at the International Institute of Modern Letters in Wellington, New Zealand.