Jeremy Rock 



And I know you are out there, tasting

acacia gum and starch, fifth in line

at your local Postal trying to speak with cardboard


a cipher so elaborate it cannot fit

in a phone line. You are packing used

underwear, a non-rewritable disc labeled for when


I can’t (be there), and my sweat-

shirt you’ve taken to sleep for a week. The tape

smells of old book binding, the flat-rate pennies


of a blood older than the address

to which you send. A stamp still wet with your spit promises

eternity, but you know better. You know domestic, you know


priority, but when you tell the clerk non-machinable hand-

sorted, you wonder if you ask too much.



Jeremy Rock is from Frederick, Maryland, and is currently a student at Salisbury University. He has work published or forthcoming in Waccamaw, The Shore, Stonecoast Review, The New Mexico Review, and elsewhere.