*
The opposite of a rock
the daily life of your fingers
look how the birds are shining
hawthorn is piercing through clumps of hair
a woolen mitten smells of gasoline
ash is a warm grey
as early as an eye
it happens that I confuse slow with soft
both are so close to the skin.
Mornings are dark green
like whole seasons
I believe I gave you a vow in a dream
matter
mother
mare
birthmarks are not always the same
as scars
the skin is so raw
you
such a beautiful and toxic name.
Face recognition
reflections of a landscape
a tree is slowly cracking
it’s such a beautiful picture
it looks like a scrap
really
yesterday was melancholic
brittle and semiprecious stone-like
today I’m just mean and beautiful
and all the things you want to read in my face?
read it with your fingers.
I constantly fail you
I eat black hellebores for breakfast
to forget
and afterwards I stand vanta black
in a field negative
greedy greedy crying eye
the gap the doubt an eyelid
lowering
this afternoon love was called a manic shield
wind has overthrown my face.
Damned obsidian
burnt brilliant by fever
Is it your eyes or your mouth
that’s burning?
Is this real?
No, darling. It’s red.
Fred LaMotte says
I love these poems, as much for the flood of imagery that flows through the silence between the phrases, as for the phrases themselves – water between shards of broken ice. Thank you.
Sam Silva says
i like this alot though its difficult to follow for me….brilliantly enigmatic