"My Reptile"Little frill d lizard with your big mouthand your clutch of egg.Pure urge iguana--I wanna wannawanna--heavy petin a moist habitat.Your dewlap licksdown my spine;your creep yearns, yearns your crawl, like a small machinethat you rev andrev and rev untilthe engine floods.Gin and bleach: two clear liquids aiming for purity, bordering the toxic. Catherine Wing's poems are soaked in her cocktail, mixing doubt, loneliness, rough elbows, and razor focus. It riddles, aiming askew for a straight answer: how do we make our way through this world?