Self Puddles by Douglas Korb

on imagining the deer heads
                        bent over ferns
            furled fiddles plucked leaving
the naked, stalked field

                        I grow myself


and someone snatched the pink lady’s slipper bloom
which took 14 years to fruit

            which makes me not myself


or the car too hot under the July sun
almost a steam over
my skin

            difficult to be


although pretending the world loves me
and talking behind so-and-so’s back yesterday

I am full of myself


at the fllllttt of rain
the plans for an outing

but who could be blamed


Douglas Korb is the author of a chapbook, The Cut Worm, and his poems and reviews have appeared in magazines such as Hobart, Versal, Barrelhouse, Spork, RHINO, Talisman, Poet Lore, and elsewhere. His erasure art can be found online at He lives in Marlboro, VT.