Taking Off Your Glasses

The slip-through trick of cufflinks
like coins through water, you
unbuttoned, creased and folded.
Jackknife cut of elbows jutting,
cocked, sure wrists into hands-up.
Ready man in his shirtsleeves,
then. A pang like biting tin
conducted through my fillings,
sunk mercury eyes.

Your hands in my hair, dumb
paws, fumbled. Whisky kiss plugging
my ear to itself, sense-stopped
in my long-dead uncle bent down
to press about how was school.
Since when do you drink that stuff,
I asked, un-looping my entanglements
with your fingers.

Since when do you care, you grin
at me, between nibbles along the arm
of your gun-metal bifocals, slide
yourself between comforter and sheet.
River of lye beneath. Who will come
to soap us, to crush our last bone hulls
by hand? What was it I harboured?
This act of taking off your glasses
still signal for some war.


Kilby Smith-McGregor is always already.



Published On: September 25, 2015
Permanent Location: http://www.forgetmagazine.com/150925i.htm




Volume 8, Issue 3
September 25, 2015



Via Toronto



an Introduction

Paul Vermeersch


Penguin Suicide

Shazia Hafiz Ramji


beached poem

Shazia Hafiz Ramji


watched by the drone

Dani Couture


They Will Take My Island

Johanna Skibsrud


Maestro Bartolome Reconsiders his "Creation of Eve"

Johanna Skibsrud


Lacking the Wind's Higher Reasoning

Canisia Lubrin


Postcard from the volcano

Kilby Smith-McGregor


Taking off your glasses

Kilby Smith-McGregor



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