Two Poems
Jessica Comola
Most Things Haven’t Happened Yet
Baby, doll, the cake is burnt.
The Christ-est lyrics say: [myself? a little bit of brainrot]
Major Option #1: reburn the cake.
Major Option #1: is a restart, there’s no need for a colon.
I’m so happy; today I found friends inside me:
I imagine as a layer of air,
then of fire, and outside the fire
planets, moving celestial bodies, each planet
attached to a transparent sphere
which also moves.
Friends may have once been outside
may have once been all up in my head
now they’re there in my lungs, heart, gut, fingernails.
[Never, Ever, Amen]
I’m very scared, a horrid child.
I make fruit, say: don’t cut your lovely skin, you rot-fruit!
My bambam is a Miss Prissy Biscuit.
I break-out the mirror; I light the candles; I find gods.
These are things I do; these are things I do with my friends.
Hey, hey, run bunny run.
The City Was Going Over, It Was Impossible to Stay
And these the black teeth that produce
stars and visions.
And these the gold teeth
capped in our mouth.
The doctrine provides a multitude of my
photovoltaic ova.
So light must pierce the atmosphere
its double-headed aura.
I shall here consider
little leather-birds. I shall here consider
she was beaten in zodiacal light.
Whose works stay open for days.
Whose little mother puts her hands together
whose little mother gets on her knees
whose little mother croaks for me
croaks for me when we tell her.
The two moons of March
are neither hell nor heaven.
Nor I and my open ova.
The intermediate state is a strange
calculation.
As being the first sort of all.
As being the double-headed bride.
There is no image of death.
This is the death of Image #507.
This is the image called “lilac.”
And others eat rosary buds.
And others touch each other.
Jessica Comola is the author of a chapbook called What Kind of Howly Divine (Horseless Press, 2014). Poems have appeared in Anti-, Everyday Genius, Painted Bride Quarterly, The Journal and Eccolinguistics, among others.
