By Nate Klug

Its water-torture-slow
wend in me. Its work

like the reverse of work.
No wonder human

praise won’t stick.
No wonder anger’s

more often summoned,
its hum, ready-made,

that steadies my head
like hospital television,

throwing blue rumor
for hours at no one.


Nate Klug’s poems have appeared in Poetry, Threepenny Review, and other journals. His chapbook, Consent, is available from Pressed Wafer in Boston.

Please follow our Commentary Guidelines when engaging in discussion on this site.