Justin Robinson
Clean Slate
Soldiers build themselves into walls.
Their mirrored faces gawk
at my pregnant belly aglow.
They comb thick mustaches
with red nails glued to bone.
Their eyes reel the pasts of cities in ruin.
Open mouths split the steel wind
with stale breath that curls the reeds
—olive trees sway silently beside their stones.
Bio
Justin is currently working on a collection of poems titled, Mirrors. His recent poems can be seen in Psychic Meatloaf & Foundling Review.