Tuesday, June 8, 2010

New work

Unsequenced Poem

the oily slap of the lake
on artifacts-

skulls and concrete blocks
the jut of a rusting phallus
burgeoning out of the rock

all half overwhelmed, all
talking, very quietly; rivets shivering

in the torsion of the instances
of crest, trough, deny.
She came there, water-walker,

exorciser, talker to spirits and stones;
pinching eyelids, knotting tongues,

ensuring that the victims
can only weep back into their throats.
Their slow genocide wraps

their cord around its finger, marking off
unnumbered ticks. She sits on them,

faerie's ring,
wings and crowns and croziers
strewn among the stones.

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