The body is a nest of pins
to stitch itself to sky—
roughhewn hem that lets birds in and is still
prone to piers, lets drop anchor
after ghost anchor :: skiffly one—
The body is an animal, waist-caged
like a canary :: diagram of light and getaway.
The body is an untilled field shot
through with weed
and wild; time afloat in onyx
aperture :: eyes, tremulous night :: sight—
isles submerged in a darkened pond.
The body is the ideology of God :: joint and
and sparrows in chimneys to remind us :: permeable
is each thing, and we :: things
in which other things are repeated :: the whole
world caught in silver nets of tissue and re-erected :: forms
without form, but felt formly—
Echoes electrify our less hollow chests—sigh, kiss.
The body is a gathered curve collapsing
upon earth :: swoon or faint; Ravage as a way
of speaking— everything eaten
down to scintilla, anklebone, bolt. Encyclopedic wind
roils into us, sings amorously of zero
in our glassy throats :: message
after message swallowed—
But maybe the body is most lace
:: S.O.S. from one universe to another :: or a confession—
Copyright © dawn lonsinger, originally published in Crazyhorse Literary Journal (Spring 2013, Vol 83)
This POW by dawn lonsinger is a staff pick from our 2014 Open Submissions pool of awesome reader-poets.