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.  [?]

VK!

Metro [pol]

Evening Will Come

My visual poetry work, Petite Mess, is featured in the new issue of The Volta.  Check it out:
Evening Will Come