D.W. Baker

D.W. Baker (he/him) is a submerging poet from St. Petersburg, Florida, where he writes about place, bodies, belonging, and the end of the world. His work appears in Identity Theory, Sundog Lit, Corporeal, and Feral Poetry, among others, and has been nominated for Best of the Net. He serves on the mastheads of several mags, including Variant Lit, and recently edited the collection GOD/CORPSE: writing on the bipolar body. See more at www.dwbakerpoetry.com

Easy read of the poems in the images above:

Hammerhead

Sitting alone in the bed
again, holding on to
the handle of the claw

hammer hammering
the need to be
right
out of my head and

on to the floor.
Liquified certainty pools
bright red at my toes.

The floor is lava.
The floor is a dead tree oxidizing
slowly. The floor isn’t

enough to keep me
upright
without the inner ear
counterbalancing the voice

I hear in the dark.
The claw with a handle
in my vestibular nerve again.

R/E/P/E/A/T/E/R

I tried to cover my eyes,
but you
were always the devil
of my dreams.
What use are eyelids
when I see you
in my sleep?

Radioactive

These hookworm feelings
are radioactive
ammunition
loaded in the barrel
of my body.

The longer I keep myself
from firing,
the steadier my decay
into a half-life.