now a body is given corners

There is a stone garden
in a suburban Wendy’s
parking lot. I want you to lie
in the lot by the bright road
but you are in it already, you
are wrapped up in it already,
you’re covered in hard plants
and a sunburn-peel-plastic
bag and there, already, your face
is tied up through it.

If you are born in poison
will you feel differently
about the moony breeze? If you
tuck an inked broccoli asphalt
lump under your pillow to gnaw
at night will you breeze
differently when you are struck
still in the stone garden—I
do not have to say.

E. Jesse Capobianco is a Chicago-based poet. He has received graduate degrees from the Institute of Philosophy at KU Leuven in Belgium and George Mason University’s MFA, where he completed theses on poetic epistemologies and hypnotic hermeneutics, respectively. His work has been published or is forthcoming in Barrelhouse, Cordite Poetry Review, Puerto del Sol, Scud, The Stockholm Review of Literature, Rabbit Catastrophe Review, Mannequin Haus, The Cardiff Review, Lammergeier, and elsewhere.