A Letter to My Amygdala Baby, tonight I’m facing this world.At moonrise I’m romping naked in the backyardwoods—but don’t tell anyone. I’ll be deep in its mawsby the time you see this, stomping barefoot on poisonousmushrooms and wrapping my hands around thickcopperheads just to say I did so. I’ll come back,don’t worry, but not until my feet are split to ribbonsand at risk of honey-combed infection. Not untilI find larvae digging deep between my toes, suckling my blood.And don’t you worry, I did the shopping—there’s fresh peacheson the counter. I ate one before leaving and didn’t clean my chin.Please do not follow my bloody tracks, I just need to seewhat…

Dermatology It doesn’t matter that you rode every subway lineor one Saturday you lost your last twenty dollarsto a carny at the Feast of San Gennaro and walkedhome over the Brooklyn Bridge in cheap espadrillesleaving you with blisters almost as bad as those aftera Hampton’s weekend trip where beer failed to provideimmunity to sunburn with even the soles of your feetthrobbing with pain equaling the dermatologist’s nitrousoxide spray that you will experience four decades laterwhen peeling skin may or may not be a sign of healingas you slowly realize most of your new acquaintancesare medical professionals and tradespeople whose feesgrow exponentially with each question and consultation. Ralph J. Long Jr.…

Revelry at Nineteen A year after the fire took most of me, after my back became blood soup, and it seemed my lost beauty— when beauty was everything— was a kind of sin, the dogs found me in the barn— three reddish ones, coyote-like with all-seeing eyes, a thick-coated Alpine type, and a big poodle, her bouffant grown out. They circled me and sat, turned their faces skyward like upward pointed arrows, and we howled all morning, all afternoon, until hunger, cold, or maybe some unheard whistle sent them home. Whatever I’d suffered, they came to partake, like sharing wine or meat. When the flames ate me, when I heard…

Why Does the First Man I Ever Kissed Keep Visiting My LinkedIn Profile after Elizabeth Bishop Perhaps he’s consideredadding a reference: Soft lips.Leans to the right.Tongue waslarger than expected.What a complimentto be remembered.I was eighteen. I wantedto learn the secretof men’s bodiesbut refused to give upmy own (body and secrets).I was a (Write it!) a disaster.Perhaps the bruise never healed.The sound of my namelike the crack of a gun.The past grips truth so tightit suffocates fasterthan my resumé loads. Charles Jensen (he/him) wrote Splice of Life: A Memoir in 13 Film Genres. His most recent collection of poetry is Instructions between Takeoff and Landing. His previous books include two collections…