by Michael Keshigian
devoid of harm,
somehow an amoeba
around my world
with one pseudopod
and stuffed me
where I was
that burned my
that floated in
of my eyes,
my psyche reduced
to its lowest
a fraction of the
that was me.
I lost my arms and
my laugh and
left with only a
when I was born
with a gelatin
and no definite
ready to ingest
Michael Keshigian is the author of 14 poetry
collections, his latest, What to Do With Intangibles, released by
Cyberwit.net. Most recent poems have appeared in The
Comstock Review, Blue Pepper, California Quarterly, Misfit
Magazine, and Tipton Poetry Journal. He has been published in
numerous national and international journals and has appeared as feature writer
in twenty publications with 7 Pushcart Prize and 3 Best Of The Net nominations.
Richkus is an enthusiastic illustrator, photographer, writer, and reader.
He has been an essential oil perfumer for more than 20 years, and has worked as a history
teacher, chemist, security guard, and circus canvasman. He bemoans the limits of time and
regrets that he is not 10 people, one of whom would happily devote every waking hour to
reading the Sunday New York Times.