Floating unaided, held together by felt and glitter,
there’s luminescence in my corner. Strength
in the form of a girl who doesn’t care for poetry
but forgets that she is all of my descriptions
bundled up and kept in a secret pact. She is
nine tenths of the sun’s warmth. A reason
to believe in Aztec Gods. A beacon for our cats
to romance her and forget I exist for anything
but food. Have you got a light when the power
cuts out? She is more than the charms, and I feel
her glow caress me when I’m weak. There are
reasons to kill demons now I’ve woke to
a turquoise smile.
– Aaron Kent
“Instead of so many elegies to the dead,
you should write more love poems to the living.”
-Marvin Bell, admonishing me
It is not the clockmaker, who keeps his own time,
in a pop-up shop next door to my pineal gland,
who reminds me with clanging bells and the insistent
clatter of gears wearing down their own teeth,
but a curl-headed mermaid, replete with shell bra
who clatters up the stairs with saucer and cup.
She looks bright in bad weather, including my own,
so lifebuoy be damned, one dry thought in a downpour
is enough to keep your head above pooling ink,
its come-hither sheen and indelible longing.
She pulls back my monk’s hood, spilling daylight
on the tonsured duomo of my steam-coughing brain.
She bids the black dog heel, though it still
walks beside us. Sometimes, she tosses a stick.
– Robert Peake