Monday, May 16, 2016

after bei dao / after jean valentine

by eduardo c. corral from slow lightning

the skin of your deity smells like gasoline

your prayers are added to the pyre

a gold wheel spinning

once your voice broke out in a sweat

each word a salt lick

there are fingers rooting inside a violin

orchestral maneuvers

in the middle of the pandemic

you mistook a group of ghosts for an orchard

you, coward

fingers are rooting inside a violin to pull out

the last scraps of birdsong

a gold wheel spinning in your mind

like insomnia

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