Three Poems
Matina L. Stamatakis
Trompe-l’œil 1.1
I could be pigeon or prophet
macula
learn’d in its tender
meat [yet no memory]
meat in prayers and catastrophic
deluge
so the holy-holy pulsating in its thrall
palmed omnipotent
Trompe l’œil 1.5
pools dark into light
pools of shimmering teeth ’gainst
a red existence
sure its unbuckling conviction to
trick itself into mind
unwavering fractal
choirs of birds lost in their own feathers
O’ fragmented quarrelsome heads
O’ critics of specters
grave in their eelflesh
Trompe l’œil 2.0
excruciating decoy of atonal pulse
I move you to another melody-lack of malignancy
the palatable becomes less
palatable
raws itself in the thick of the retina
In memory of no memory
O’ squandered is the macular
impulse of shadows in my palm the dove is
angular and oblique
with the moon ) O’ mask I still find the contours slack
made of glass less fluid
it is not itself by appearances
Poetry by Matina L. Stamatakis has appeared in YEW, Coconut, Milk, Shampoo, The Volta, Free Verse and in E·ratio #7 (this is her ten-year anniversary appearing in E·ratio!). She currently resides in upstate New York.
