ANDROMEDA ON THE EDGE
dying in such splendor.
Splendor in the dark-brained water below,
gushing that bitter, bitten-tongued blood --
And the night air takes the chafe.
The rocks a layer of wafer;
How she palms geology, sciences, thrills darkly
in the discovery of history --
the weighted down back of a heavy giant.
What else is there
in a tower of rock salt, streaked glee, mad,
The humiliation of fool's gold?
There are only these highways:
Jade scraped snakes.
Streams of spider spit;
The jut and rut of these rubber-mucked ribbons.
They lead towards the sea.
dies a salt-breathed death,
Is embedded in those years of history.
one fingernail could scrape one second
Maybe threads of her
Tattered loom silk,
of this bad, bad night.
the dress is a tight, whale-ribbed wedding charade,
Or else fit for a funeral pyre.
The toss and froth of vanity,
sure, sweaty hand,
such string-haired promises;
A life underwater
With the heart caught and snared,
Or else eaten.
Every bit of pollution will be the
stench of her lost breath --
These rocks a savior,
A road never completed;
How it leads nowhere.
Neptune with a barnacled triton,
A coral wreath, a shark's tooth, a jaw of moss,
Throatful of silt, sodium in the mix:
His sharpened spires
Only stir the grit.
Pneuma Literary Magazine, Liberty Hill Poetry Review, Poetry Motel, Stirring, Morpho Review, etc.
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