Seven Books of
Remember this, and pass the rest as salamanders
sliding through the forest: what is forbidden will
all else is mere foreplay. On this, the rabbi stops and
his drink with me: the only genuine smile is one
which comes from a lonely child. I lower my eyes, and
A fabricated image blinks, convinced the death
of all good things is trapped in quiet corners. Lizards
and wolves hover and slink, together against the glade.
A stationary presence watches from under a layer of leaves -
There is a medicine for this if I could drink from gills.
The ocean frightens me. Pools and ponds abound.
There are no signs of tenderness watching from
the sky, there are billowed and glowing suffusions of
moving closer in. Further out, a heavily-coated mammal
wakes, sensing a vague disturbance. I eat, mustering out the
At holiday time, the family orders a slender box
for mother's early pearls. For this, the priest will
his glass: the lock, complex, and brilliant with color
for inviting thieves. This is the great investment now. I
you less, engaged in this and breathing
from the skin.
A portable stove rolls over the floor, attempting to dry
the building here, still wet from reconstruction. I've
my legs, regardless of loss, and only because I can.
Rudimentary legs, the architect says, the sturdy structures
like suns, in spite of your moving hips. I watch a mullet
Xolotl escapes from under a flame, into an Aztec sun.
A battery slows, and garbles the song
while someone's graceful daughter smiles
a pirouette onto the sand. The father doesn't drink, instead,
he separates brain from thumb. I make my way toward land.
I am arrived, desensitized, so I can hide, and be a part
of this. All around are clouds and wings and entities
in celebration of glorious past and legend. I see
I am two-lined from front to back. Atlantis sent
a poet's ship
containing loss and longing, deep, and I remember nothing.
If you've any comments on this poem, Wendy
Videlock would be pleased to hear from you.