[[...of an exiting Neruda ]].

    a niche in the pavement,
black hat head-spun southward
              onlooker

in glassy trill, the din of clock &
        springtime sprig snap
or that of an existing wound--
            intimate passerby:

     a shadow musician
accustomed to striking bow
along alley corridors


with hands & heart you
      greet him
   expecting a great
   performance;
 a spectacle

     you’ve only once
         encountered

from a bird, dusky nightingale,
     who sung mournfully
     through the salty spray
              of the sea.

The Man Who Breaks Dimensions...

in his mouth,

            gives the sun its violent luster      ──He who

marks  the blistered streets of December

in his eyes                        &   births the new snow's

    wonderment                   ──He  stirs up windows,   dusty floors,

     calls to bones a grip of    

                    voiceless somewhere    ──He evaporates

on weathered skin,                  calls to it a sheath

                                                     of longing

  
                                             ***

                         & now it is Summer again
                    & now the navel yearns for spit
           

             He reflects the New World with corruptless eyes
          
      & moves onto a canvas                made of moonlit starvation
 

 believing this desolate island   

                                                                   is a smaller town

         much smaller than pores

                                         or his lover's hands

                  full of gravity,     little grains

                   wrapped  in womb

                                      of finality

                                                                      

 

A Doozy of a Dusie

3 works are featured in the latest issue of Dusie.

Some amazing poets are in this issue.

Eileen Tabios
Elizabeth Treadwell
Carleen Tibbetts
Arielle Guy
and many others...

guest edited by the wonderful Carrie Hunter.

Check it out!


DUSIE 15/16

Catawba

from Breaking the Bird's Beak Hymen

 

 

                  Every night

 

                                a pooling of blood

 

         or exsanguinated

                                     

      the spilt seed

 

 

                         by morning

 

       how clean            the sparrow

 

 

                   divine its feathers

 

 

 

 

               a child

 

 

 

 

 

[Were Ethos not a Candelabra]

But a bathed-in flicker full of undressing.  Or comfort devils in our blue.  And we.  But

were stars blossoming metallic pentacles.  & talismans of such.  Would we white-sheeted &

pray.  

                                    Beautiful things into them.  [?]