Wednesday, April 24, 2013

Stephen Ellis

Milk Drops Turned Diamond

The names are
essential, that we
each know them,

we who sound like
cows' dreams
when we speak

(the names of favorite
flowers will do,
pollinated in the veiled

synaptic dream-
flow brought out as
the inverse of any

convenient 'present'
in which we suck
the owl's teats that

grow out of the Kali
sows that rise like
pearls charmed by

the undertow from
the sea's depths
as whitecaps

that guard the waist
of the void: How else
could it be, to have

Our Lady's pure
neurological semen
ooze up and out

and down behind
eyes that being two
still see a single

thing, the neck of
sleep broken just so
movement can

exist and make
the distance of
her heartbeat

a memory invisible
yet clearly present
enough to worship.


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