Three by

 

Molly Stern

 

 

 

 

neossoptile

 

 

beneath the juvenile bird’s feathers—liquefaction.

the windswept body lies parsed by surf

 

onrush of the ocean, a birth of movements in space

as the synapses decay, spread multiform

 

become as a flood of new beings, cellular clinging

salt-soaked and gulping at cold tides.

 

the clambering limbs are limed with it

this departure—or is it a greeting?—overwhelming

 

bonds snap, a gentle swaying of the carcass on the swell

the stink of its bloated godhand

the terminal fruit flowering over, into an anemious dawn.

 

the body is laid bare

every nerve flushed with the sinistrorse turning

of flesh to dust, dust to flesh

 

the raw commonality of it—

to feel the sharp pull of ether reaching down from another world

 

dazed by the star lights, knocked to our backs by it 

defenseless against the merciless plucking of a hidden colony

 

the eyes cloud over—no place to alleviate it

no relief rushing down from it

only the sleep movements of planets at night.

 

 

 

 

nyctinasty

 

 

obnubilate me

in an instant, render me indistinct

cover me in a winding latebra

let me sink into obscurity, a dissipating mist

 

the breath is ombrogenous in an arid land

seasons of suffocation begin

the skies birth a body

 

the world is alive with it

muscose clouds thickly gathered

 

I am immobilized, crushed under cold clay

but not yet senseless to it

 

I watch the rise of a new body above the trees

chosen, encircled by the hand of him, the god

 

I am left below

the dripping of a rainswept land in my ears

 

eyes beclouded by night, that inblowing of darkness.

 

 

 

 

nutual, adj.: expressed merely by a gesture

 

 

having the tendency to become of rock—the sky, the water

my body, breathing

 

the touch of—

isolation of—

                           the body

rain-dampened and hot

 

to see the growth become a part of it

the breath a cosmic offshoot

of the body’s totality

 

searching for distance at a molecular level

 

the so-called sleep movements

                     only gestures

 

a folding of planets

bodies crowding through woods

 

to render obscure

                          sunlight

 

refracted in a nutual greeting.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Molly Stern lives in Brooklyn, NY.  Her poetry has appeared in E·ratio, Witness Magazine, So to Speak and The Mays Anthology. 

 

 


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