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Siren
Puerto Plata
A poorly snapped photo catches only a table on a terrace, a magic flounder surrounded by a lemon globe, leaking humid seeds. Jagged Caribbean salts star a black helix & helix here means the sad glamour of the lost surface, like how you looked at your black legs after love and how, out of the frame, you hid a sunburned face under the awning to balm it with a healing shadow; was it that day we carved pineapple for the surf picnic & had a bad-ass twosome against a storm warning? I wish this photo hadn’t been botched if only for a glimpse of your grin – one last basking in the candor of your green suns.
Eliska of Logo Revue
kicks back a cold water glass while seated on a camphor table, point-poised, a narrow gaze that lifts up the eyelids, a silkscreen lets loose a school of minnow, glossed against blue by intaglio, while on the opposing wall, on muslin drapery, legions of Li Po stitch an autumn-rain tumult of strophes & antistrophes— deer’s milk, ivy brake, lonely whippet— vertical missives to the three friends of winter.
East River by Night at the Fulton Fish Market
the haze over the river after the cold May rain will break away & lift itself; but not so loss; love’s a coursing body disguised as endless fire; look beneath the bridge where hell currents run; dive deep, rescue bodies of dead boys who drank this island dry for two centuries; they found railings at night: rivers accept any comers just as their lovers’ eyes once accepted them; an electric immersion, a constant swim, bodies, lit up by love, as long as the flames last in the mirage of the river’s dark waves
Tim Keane’s book Alphabets of Elsewhere has been published by Cinnamon Press and he is at work on a second collection, Something Classical in Three Chords. He lives in New York City. www.timkeane.com |