Sunday, November 25, 2012

Mary Kasimor

requiem for dog

at My FIRST communion the PEONIES
shot off
their HEADS for god in Glorious
red the Anti-ANTS’

sentiment IS no THING
but SCIENCE is the BODY of
CHRIST and not A force of Nature
but the sheer WHITE
SUN wears ME

encased in my natural Family
NEXT To THE china slippers
when I was OF age I found
my BODY fettered by Holiness
SO I sez TO JESUS Christ
there IS more to
THIS than WAXEN breaths OF PAST
dead I Miss

my grandfather and SOON my soul
WILL disappear into the flames
then THE ashes will SETTLE
into My HAIR

I used MY last SILVER dollar
and Salvation eludes EVEN
the ANTS in a piqué of Bloody
peonies that ARE Still
and related to another AUNT
who WAS never
on THE farm WHO lived with Old
DUST next to dogs and
god crocheting her FUTURE

WITHIN fortune and AN Impatient HEART
breaking NEXT to that Holy
photo of me
and DOG Bleeding ALL over my Breast


managing the chaos or on to plan b

amid the tension in tensile
form shedding the streets dumped
hucksters sharp darkness
the royal blood among the bees
and be-knots knotting intersections
shake lose the lights in failed language  
in the gestures
keeps everyone tight in intricate knots
the feet fake the moves
stars wrestle on the roofs like messiahs
flashing the earthy flatness
of wonders the words the words
the flash of words keep
the golden words shake the fiery moths
falling onto staged eclipses of shaken wing span
brain spun and myth
struck agog and angry and radiant
and lists of naming of
a flight of numbers like geese
of intensity of falling of something
more than the strokes of wheels
burnishing the calligraphic floor
and inverse echoes and fences of flies
in the calling of bodies and rocking the rocks
and throwing the rocks and the rocks fall
onto the final clinging humans clinging
to trees and bushes and editing
words of motion and form
and tunnels and clinging to a tree
of syllables cross stitched
and tied together
and smashed and bloody and thin
in the streets the blood
flowing from here and here
and 10 miles from the spot x marks
the endless row  houses and blue doors and
neighbors who don’t know
who don’t know who might
know but don’t want to know
when everything is in its place and placed
between the land and is in negative space
and pasted on the wind
and with the wireless horizon  
on to plan b


               butterflies passing through

identified as normal no things in flowers daughters
& sons spare the rod from guilt spliced & diced into
& my lot in life passing by the tomato gods stepped
on by roses of claw feet the fountains  bleeding
succession of humans passing on the fingerprint or
losing children on the way to the store found hidden
in radiant thoughts or elbow magnetic impulses or
magnets of the refrigerator with photos of identification
the loss of baby skin & I apologize for that forgetfulness
& what you like about yourself & photos of flies &
              pasta dishes & falling teeth from this we return


mother & pieces

what time was your Shape                          at birth
              as you broke into pieces                 & a Piece    
    slept in my bed           I named it after            You &
it took days            in the sun & the rain     Down by
        the river it        glinted like pain          my heart  
a speck         in the distance              the Man in the moon
           explained          a tangent                   of the film
only it was about            a Lemon         I didn’t understand
it until             now I don’t exist                         & if I do it is
       Because of the label    that I        wear Organic poet
        small sole               Space                                    person
         let me sleep       for hours                as Anonymous


blank boxes

I wanted to hear light shake before the event
so I placed my heart
in my hunger
& it might have been home

but the myth started
as a sound & it braved the dark forests  
hidden waters &
it was in the middle
suspended moon shape
is chilly
without heat
& goddesses played for blood & drank in lost
directions & the myth became a dream
desired at night under
feathers & green cotton
a romantic brain
the fear of the body
before food was discovered
I looked out from my eyes & couldn’t
decide if I existed as an idea or skin
a lung ears intestines or
the taste of water
I revolted
from boundaries on my tongue
moving my shape along
a clumsy wet vegetable
a heart thrown
Into the river & past
the oceans
deeper than thought it proved
it was silence & I never heard myself
at the end when beginning
occurred I slept
with my arms holding onto a box of holes


No comments:

Post a Comment