Drinking a Glass of Wine with You
you ask me what taste
I say white and pectins
give a hint, say datum
from a single star
say nudges, legs, oleo exhale
truth you are pith
and a stone that rolls
into a deep well, a viper mooting
with a vine, they join
and truth you are a paring
off a chip of reddest ceylon
under a new moon outside
you scroll a hand in hair
your eye bled grim with copper
you have one eye
next to one eye I’m
here, truth you’re dawn
that follows night as written, and to answer
your question, well, I’ll never
forget what this smells like
chert, urine, the eucharist frizzante
a storm to sack an orange grove
Seth Kleinschmidt is a Midwestern writer from the banks of Wisconsin’s Rock River. His work appears or is forthcoming in Indiana Review, New Orleans Review, Yalobusha Review, Gulf Coast, and other journals. A former radio producer and disc jockey, he is currently an MFA candidate in poetry at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, where he serves as poetry editor for Witness.