through the dust

By | 31 October 2021
your blood knows the journey your body seeks,

the journey I am about to unmake.

under my eyelids, the vivid flicker:

the moths stir, flutter one last time in a

dance you were just now in the middle of.

see yourself moving, but not what moves you —

a song. perhaps it came from my mouth. there,

each syllable a bit of dust from wings.

covered in a cloak of wings, hear the song —

such a lovely wing-beaty quality.

look up and see my lovers dance above

me lightly, like the dust we’re both made of.

fill the serious space in the middle

with some of your poetry. that’ll make

curving lines ending in various points —

a fire. I will crack this dream wide open,

walk the path raw. our very own Silk Road

crawling behind twitchy eyelids, slow walk

back to an older conscience, a raw awe.

speak your way back to the beginning, when

the earth’s crust scorched our feet, the unremitting

fire smoldering at the tips of our tongues.

reach towards the light like silence reaches.

we almost hear the cut-and-paste

language — though a thought walks two paths at once,

twin bright-lit wings, identically shaped;

smile on her face and a fire in her heart,

to bend the poets from their comet course

with smoky kisses and melt with the heat.

the caterpillar is mostly liquid,

dissolving in amniotic syntax.

with this transformation, gone is my shame.

a world emptied of memories but one,

for all the light in the world to pass through.

those heavy wingbeats in the night become

the land of birth brightness of star and scream;

a newborn cries, and somewhere a mother

tongue kicks consonants like a soccer ball,

kicks round the universe when the earth tips

words into a bag & shake them, arrange

them with ease. the earth swallows me in turn.

back to the start, before you stepped into the

middle of an apocalypse, but we

few who choose to linger in this echo

think we can outwit the end — play god with

words that can be used over and over,

recite the words without translating them…

howling incandescent hymns…

listen, o poet, to this marvel of

messages into the air, light patterns

we can’t compute as we gaze into this

battery powered fake tealight candle.

Evelyn Araluen, Decolonial Research Methodology after the Bogong Moth

A.J. Elsequence, The Sorrows of Young Hippocrates

Vanessa Page, Moths

Joanna Stanlake, Icarus

James Midgley, Dance

Shastra Deo, Walkthrough

Dorothea Rosa Herliany / Harry Aveling, Married to a Knife

James McCorkle, Franklin’s Bees

Omar Sakr, Brothers

Michael Farrell, Mysteries of the South Coast

Rosie Brodie, pussy sand

Lucy Morgan, to be held is where hope lies

Samantha Walton, poem for you

Petronius, Satyricon (quoted by Caitlynn Cummings)

Caitlynn Cummings, Mezzo Millemetro

Davide Angelo, Year Zero

Tanya Evanson, Finishing Salt

Soyini Ayanna Forde, Poem for a Gunman

Joel M Toledo, A Record Year for Rainfall

Lisa Suhair Majaj, Journey

David Adès, A Line In The Sand

Ralph Fonte, Another Gospel of Fire

Lynley Edmeades, The Kangaroos

Geoff Page, The Anthologist

Diane Glancy, Tripod

Atsuro Riley, Diorama

Maya Hodge, daughters of the sea, sun and sand

Jean-Baptiste Cabaud / Jan Owen, The shepherdesses painted in blue

Sarah Rose-Cherry, she / he / they. you (I / we)

Jonno Revanche, Not ever


Lucy Alexander, Crow

Hannah Jenkins, Enderman’s Lament

Dženana Vucic, natural sciences trivia

Alice Blackwood, The Bogongs

Ricardo M de Ungria, ɫ i b a w

Ohan Hominis, Beneath A City

Christine Howe, Somewhere in the Suburbs

Pip Smith, On the 36th Floor

Julie Chevalier, more work needed to make a dadaist poem

Lisa Jacobson, All Things

Vanessa Page, The Instinct of Sharks

Himaja Wijesinghe, if he asks you where you’re from

Dakota Feirer, Heal Country

Emily Collyer, With the fishes

Samuel Wagan Watson, Dust and Drag

Jennifer Compton, Under the House

Mathew Bate, Little Hank and I

Anthony DiMatteo, Penelope’s Poet

John Hawke, The Conscience of Avimael Guzman

Rachael Mead, The Waterfall

Lore White, I could eat LIGHTNING

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