Danny Cooper
flats

hot sand and grainy glass
yours is packed like clay
me i grab some seashells
and scrape to the bone

doe deer’s ribs on hard cement
honey fur still clean and pristine
same wet pink thread of mine
in coiled cervine braid

rigid skull, a cratered moon
flakes like chocolate croissant
under silver steak knife
gray matter oozes out

grimy fingers prod the grooves
looking for the right shape
a celtic knot or bunny-eared loops
force the image clear

mold and wet blur
my grassy eyes can’t glare
i send your vision in the mail
watch me bend in the grid

bug bites on my legs
lunulas swelling their bed
overgrown green marrow
or a neck i think you’ll bite

grind me into ash
amaranth slivers of meat
sieve through the desert
skin in the wind

Danny Cooper is a recent graduate from the University of Pennsylvania where he majored in English and Earth Science. He’s originally from South Jersey and is now living in Brooklyn, New York. He spent the past summer working at the Penn Program in Environmental Humanities developing climate storytelling workshops.

Read more from Cleaver Magazine’s Issue #35.

Submit to Cleaver!