Conglomerate Rock
by Chris Crittenden

bodies mashed,
jumbled in knots,
lip to lip, eye to eye,
veins interpenetrating,
ribs thatched, viscera
scrambled on platters
of quartz—

a predicament merging
Dante’s fifth and eighth—
swampy frozenness,
dung- and ice-colored—

never a twitch
from grimaces that can’t writhe
from the trap—

jaws that sprung over centuries,
locking mud, river and shell
in an endless cage.

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