Jean Michel Basquiat | The Field Next to the Other Road


Sneezing fits

of overgrown




thieves of my senses


weed corpses

and branches

of tar

embracing the bare


of my legs


caressing my ankles


pebbles trip me

I trudge forward

on chalky sand

dirt painting my arms


the sun


the bridge of my nose

the strip of skin

beneath my hairline

clutching the space


my dainty silver ring

and index finger


I wipe the glaze

from my face

lift the socks above

the red marks

on my ankles


I fiddle with the silver

my skin soaked

erasing the

sun’s sketches

from my skin


but the weeds

still puncture

my dirt-streaked




embrace me

Do you enjoy reading the Nass?

Please consider donating a small amount to help support independent journalism at Princeton and whitelist our site.