Judith Roitman

from Binary

What flashed in the eyes
scratched at the eyebrows.

Baby thymus glands
a tree of light.

The hole gets bigger.
The tongue can’t swallow.

Already in the faith zone
wide enough to walk through.


How does your heart beat?
What do your lungs say?

They scooped out half your body.
Conglomerates stride the earth.

We couldn’t lift her.
We couldn’t see her feet.

He touched the brakes.
He shouldn’t have done that.


Apples fall unattended.
Her feet belong to no-one.

Light through bone.
A patch, like glue.

Flower inside fruit.
The host strangled.

Tree roots
filled with beings.


Small mouth small eyes.
Who will be my friend?

Eyes blink in unison
lean against bone.

Coming out of the surf
shivering in wet clothes.

I give my money to the overlord.
It’s not enough to hope.


Within carapace
dry mouth closing in.

Fingers doubling back on themselves.
Time doesn’t own you.

Body suspended.
Ground motionless.

Arm coming out of the sleeve like that.
Such tender fragile skin.

Judith Roitman’s most recent book is Roswell (theenk Books, 2018); her most recent chapbook is Provisional (dancing girl press, 2019). Poems have appeared most recently in Equalizer, the tiny, december,Rogue Agent, Galataea Resurrects, E.ratio, Writing Disorder, Futures Trading, YEW, Eleven Eleven, and Otoliths. She lives in Lawrence Kansas.
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