a face stares back.
across the hostile centuries.
add a twist — delicious.
and never feel a thing.
commercial — added stretch to every gesture.
how it is made.
I almost admire it. I almost wrote despise.
I’d be all give. Let me put it like this==
in the nocturnal, recessed bed==
resembles the bird it will fly into.
Right now I’m trying to open wide.
she turns to a tree.
she would be neither-nor.
that is space.
the exdream — the world gone into god again?
the white between the ink.
the white navel — I notice — in the O.
their harsh done crust.
then some inbetween?
to a nuptial lace.
to ever dwell again.
to mask the screen in dumb expanse.
touch in linen walls.
Turn — her — loose —
What — does not console?
who could bear to save her.
yes, god her saurian voice into the ground.
Source: Poetry (May 2012).
MORE FROM THIS ISSUE
This poem originally appeared in the May 2012 issue of Poetry magazine