Jesse Miksic


Next time you reach for the handle,

     there will already be blood

That is the law, now


The next stranger you meet

        will already know your name

This is how we balance the equation


Whose horns will you find

        sprouting like poppies from the earth?

Yours, of course


Because you survive your past

        in the archive, bearded brother,

Or you are survived —


How many limbs can

        grow back, in this

Sordid place of ill fraternity?


Resurrect the phrase that will

        strike down the bookkeeper,

And despair! He carries the syllabari


The handle is so slick,

        it no longer opens —

Four horns, gray beard, a thousand tasks


To fulfill —

        This is the law, now. This is the law.





Jesse Miksic is a graphic designer and writer living in the suburbs of Philadelphia. He spends his life writing poetry, waiting patiently for nightfall, and having adventures with his wonderful wife and two children. Recent placements include Green Ink Poetry, Pink Plastic House, Moist Poetry, and Roi Fainéant Literary Press. His work and musings can be found at @miksimum on Twitter and Instagram, or