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Postcard with Phobia
[Front]
A man shares space with his skull:
One eye open, one eye holed. The Rose
of Delirium lacerates the sallow elegy
of his cheeks. His lips stutter
in grayscale—a smudge of blood
on a chrome bumper.
[Back]
It’s simple really: I say the feathers
in my mouth and mean the gravity
of your ghost softened my tongue.
I meant not to remember you
at all—not your sad, waspish song
or your pilgrim’s bid for the polar dark.
Oh, my impossible wife—I never
meant to love you
like this.
A man shares space with his skull:
One eye open, one eye holed. The Rose
of Delirium lacerates the sallow elegy
of his cheeks. His lips stutter
in grayscale—a smudge of blood
on a chrome bumper.
[Back]
It’s simple really: I say the feathers
in my mouth and mean the gravity
of your ghost softened my tongue.
I meant not to remember you
at all—not your sad, waspish song
or your pilgrim’s bid for the polar dark.
Oh, my impossible wife—I never
meant to love you
like this.
Posted 08/27/11
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