By Alissa Leigh Alissa Leigh
Map of terror and pleasure,
ardent junk, passionate congress
filled with the arguments of chemicals,

Echo chamber for the fanatical cries
of stubborn generations, all the quaint invisibles
death has grown a beard on,

labyrinth of desire, playing field of impulse,
factory where decay's silent armies clock in,
philosopher-clown blowing a horn at each epiphany.

Washed by the rough nurse of morning,
wheeled into the ward of the afternoon,
feeds, grateful, on the rich broth of dusk.

Reads the erratic cards of dreams,
turns on the rack of insomnia,
steals the two-bit grace of sleep.

Loses its name in foreign embraces,
forges a passport to the country of   tenderness,
gestures like a child at the thing that it   wants,
opaque from its own breath on the glass.

Source: Poetry (December 2002).


This poem originally appeared in the December 2002 issue of Poetry magazine

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December 2002

Poems by Alissa Leigh

Poem Categorization

SUBJECT Nature, The Body

Poetic Terms Ode

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