THREE POEMS

THREE POEMS

 
Cecropia[1.Cecropia moths (Hyalophora cecropia) in their adult form have no mouths or digestive systems.They reproduce and starve to death within two weeks of maturity.]

It begins, O!                                                                                                   Nausea

My name still misses U                                                                    It’s not your fault
You read between the lines                                           When  you turned around
You did                                                                                                                 I did

I am the lady with tulips                                                       I received a letter
A lily resting afloat                                                          The butterfly effect
Ponder; did I catch the bouquet?             Second calling, nine two six

To be raptured means                                 You could not wait
To ascend into heaven             For me to fall in love
Second Coming                 INELUCTABLE

I did not know                                                  I did not know
Though the vultures warned                 The metamorphosis ended
Of my two lips                                                                       With a moth

I was reaching for the camera                     I was reaching for the chimera
But we kissed instead                                                          But the filters faded
Why did you look so sad?                                           The muse wears a question

Orb on a hill                                                                                       On her finger

 

How You See It

i. Night

The stable is empty tonight—
The mares are asleep on the meadow,

Occasional feeling that a winged being
Swooped by low, then high,

Now a feeling that the wingéd
Being is watching you.

 

ii. Day

In daylight, in the field, a bloody canary—
Somebody’s afternoon meal.

 

Untitled

The chest is often impaled amid

Something beautiful still,
A tenderness within its scent, loftier—
Heavenly below the bowl of the eyes.

And it swoons you out of this room, sways you
To a time you once deserved and deserted, the sounds of a barrier reef
Circling in a swollen motion in your inner ear, almost
A breath expelled at the dusk of being, the richness of her
Fond rounded lips,
Pressing— as a breast presses against a cold stone wall, warming, softening,
Making full the cave, endlessly pressing, expanding, imploring in a light pink
Gesture; and sore, perhaps pressed and pierced, pressed and pierced,
Pierced in an eternal quality, pierced, until loosened, the mind lets go.

 

 

 
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