from thank you terror
BY MATHIAS SVALINA
I am tired of trees,
of birds, of things
meaning. All these
thees & thous
in the distant hum
of a rusting ship,
drydocked,
understandable
from one vantage.
I put them
on a little spit
& tie both ends.
* * *
The life so short,
the craft so
long to learn.
Floating, sinking,
naked of waist.
Who likes the photo
crying for help?
the temples? the bows?
the service of story?
the touch of avalanche?
I sit at the end
of a chapter,
waiting for something
older, nobler,
to rot out
from the inside.
For in my heart
I am carving a bird
out of muscle & fat.
All these words we drop
like coins into the slots,
keying in the code, watching
the bag of skittles drop.
