Listen to Casey Thayer read his piece:
Before we can’t function, let’s fumble
with our zippers and find places
on our body that make us burn.
Forget we fear fire. Forget we know
as little of physics as we do of sex
and turn everything to suggestion.
This is a clumsy zombie love,
bodies groping, arms out. This,
an instinctual hunt we leave to our hands.
When I remove your pants we’ll lie there
looking. Mostly, we’ll moan aimlessly.
Tomorrow we may be crow-meal, fuel
for the flamethrower, so stumble over here,
you pale corpse, you kinky thing.
Let’s pretend to know how our bodies work.
Casey Thayer received an MFA from Northern Michigan University and has poetry published or forthcoming in American Poetry Review, Devil’s Lake, Quarterly West, and elsewhere. Currently, he is an assistant professor of English at the University of Wisconsin-Rock County.