The Miner by Kurt Van Ristell

They worked him ’til his fingernails turned mulberry,Peeling from their beds like autumn petals.They used new therapies to fix his crumpled distals, Alloyed his carpals with an icy clutch of metals. But soon after, his miner’s arms collapsed –Each ulna splintered like an ocean’s daughter-streams.And so they weaved his alabaster frame of bonesWith endless reams of printed black graphene – Light as an iron feather. … Continue reading The Miner by Kurt Van Ristell