Animate by Tyler Wettig

As all men are, we are weak: the feral
perfumes of our loins unabated by 
our greater muse, intuition, with our 
faces for all seasons like so many
 
pockets of change. We are of the ways of
the old masters: carvers, molders, melders
of slab and stroke--the curiosity 
seekers of our covenant's yin . . . that great

esoteric patchwork of the sexes:
confounding we progeny from cave to
grave. On mornings when we can still come to,
blessèd be our alms of matrimony, hormones,
 
madness: for blessèd are the contrite—
but remember the shadow: it gives us light.
Photo by Thaís Silva on Pexels.com

About the Poet:

Tyler Wettig resides in Michigan. His latest chapbook is The Adult Table (Zetataurus, 2018). 

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