Welcome to “Poetry at The Arts Fuse.” A new poem every Thursday

Echologue

Can confirm : the worst version
of tact is tarried to matte

my chameleon lip against
folly’s

gloss. Crammed as I am,
my vox box gets

crickets. Once tongue touches
any viscous, the uppance

unbecomes.

*

Under 
belly’s coattails, still waters

ripple, part upon
reflection. Weird flex : this estuary’s

false
bottom. Reefs ring these knell-

less canticles of musk, old chum
dusk dimmed in sudden

flux.

Chris McCreary‘s latest book of poems, awry, was published by White Stag in 2024. He lives in South Philadelphia and on IG at @chris___mccreary.

Note: Hey poets! We seek submissions of excellent poetry from across the length and breadth of contemporary poetics. See submission guidelines here. The arbiter of the feature is the magazine’s poetry editor, John Mulrooney.

— Arts Fuse editor Bill Marx