Wake, [Anon]

By | 1 November 2019
Nam Phương final empress bore her lake oak-white jade continental. You are older than that. I turn history gold dream-fallen ash, therefore, public amaranth republic sweet of stem, crepuscular cosmology wept in dirty paws wrote of monkeys—
for you, my flesh wet silver, amethyst and rye myth preceded then centuries passed Nam Phương without pause, stabbed herself. A center held. Gibbons swung tendrils down, baboon and ape. I rite myself today detritus knock divine. And she who takes the hour pits a chalice into stone—
darker queen of mercy spare us—
in 1858, allegedly, Campagne de Cochinchine began, thus our child learned to swim. Gibbons scratch an anthill. Yes, the stairwell held us, bones. Gibbon cry. A father slipped his finger in papaya, therefore, I was born, queen of chive, milk. Spare us automatic, bottomless thrones of light. Lovers bathe inside of me, frayed—
imagine us a crown Palme’s death in Sweden later, learned of Guernica imagine that lip surpassing massacre. Stories of my people march into another. How is it love something more machine, countries lost between us—
This entry was posted in 93: PEACH and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

Related work:

  • No Related Posts Found

Comments are closed.