Wednesday, March 12, 2008

Sdepan Keshishian: Contortionary

I go there, also. searching through framed seashores Bent,
digging through rubble under bare heels and dust

faints buzz like faints
buzz fuzz light fixtures

I can't recall an instance, displaced six thousand miles-
a six hundred millimeter dash to the closet wall,

where the sun shines more content Bent,
at right angles.

Words leak and falter, alter
like borders. hoards of tight corners.

I felt a woman - made of earth, sword and skirt,
dead and mapped, giving birth. We carved out a piece of the sun

to carry a long

Sdepan Keshishian, Boston, 2008

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