The Turning Leaf Journal

Proverbs 20:27
By DW Baker

I was nine, ten? when the
ruinous edifices of human
language molded my spirit
into altared forms. It is
rote entanglement, the
serpent’s apple: my lamp

bears its own witness. Of
course, sixteen was the
age I defied the Lord
of red letters, searching
instead for colors every
me includes: the inmost

hue, of which I am part.

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D.W. Baker (he/him) is a submerging poet from St. Petersburg, Florida, where he writes about place, bodies, belonging, and the end of the world. His work appears in Sundog Lit, Identity Theory, Green Ink Poetry, and Modern Haiku, among others, and has been nominated for Best of the Net. He serves on the mastheads of Divinations Magazine, Cosmic Daffodil, and Hearth & Coffin. See more of his work at www.dwbakerpoetry.com

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Artwork Source: “uva negra,” Kate Efimochkina

Artist Statement: This image pays tribute to Bacchus, passion and rage.

Kate Efimochkina, graphic artist, writer. In her works she tried to show a chaotic beauty of nature and the impulses that are hidden in it.