by Louis Lamanna
I bare the kicking of the qualms-
I bare the clanging of the doldrums
and the kicking of the qualms.
I bare in blue and yellow pangs that sour tongues
and lift locked lids to cognizance-
and yet you inquire “Why so saturnine?”-
I bare the clanging of the doldrums and the kicking of the qualms.
Wonder instead who has had me veiled; who has shut my eyes
and printed gambols behind the lid.
Wonder who has fooled me twice-
who has shed light upon feigned light, unstitched the bliss
of my assumed verisimilitude,
and forgotten my question in this rhetoric. Have you yet forgotten?
“Why so saturnine?”
The lurches rip me like a viced greybird, caught
between the thorn bush and the sky;
The sweet bird falls to sleep and does not struggle,
yet struggles to lie,
to close its eye,
and to savor the abysmal color of black;
to which the winds only reply
why so saturnine?”
How I wish to cut your cold voice,
how I still wish to cut your cold voice and embrace you!
How I wish to run my fingers over your chest
and trace the spaces between the sharp hairs of your face;
I thought I had flown from these treacherous things!
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