Object Relations

Lisa Wells

brushed up on some supernal
sublimation. An asteroid

is falling toward the planet
packed in ice

big as a big building
reports the flustered analyst.




it’s little old me: the dream of the grunt
who flexed in cathedrals of concrete

who deafened in
hydraulic hush

to bring home the bacon
and Oleoline.




for my forbear labored deep
in a hospital basement

fed biohazards to an incinerator.

Objects issued from the hole,

bodies above—revised,
bagged and vanished

down a blind aluminum chute
to his hands.




his hands that gripped
the hips that dropped

the egg that met
the fish that struck

the match in me

I’m burning

and they say the rock will miss
the earth, but just.