Becoming Adam
– after Jeffrey McDaniel
I want to locate a piece of the sky, caress it,
become convinced no name exists for it,
but there is no sky, only that light
pulsing like a discarded skin
around the sun’s persistent tremble.
The narrow throats of the city bulge
with consonants, and veterans hoist their vowels
up flag poles to swelter in surrender.
My limbs recite the conjugations of sweat
and practice the nuances of the nine dialects of heat.
Let the wind disassemble her veil and forgive us.
Let me stitch the wounds of the night with leather
so the stars may stampede across her brow.
Let me locate a piece of the sky, caress it,
until its name becomes tangible and it must grow wings.
Wayfarer
I am a stranger here myself. It’s true
I’ve never felt at home. Still, I’m trapped
inside the gossip of this city. Sin […]
Subscribers can read the full version by logging in. |
Visitation
Tell me of a stranger so perfect
his voice could make even a world-wearied saint
pause. Tell me he tongues words like embers
the color of dusk, and my name is one star’s worth
of smoke in his mouth. Tell me it is evening
and the birds, that barn owl in particular,
repeat a hymn I know I should understand
as the crickets unseam their emerald trousers
and begin to hum with the oak trees some secret
living softly inside their bright legs.
Tell me the earth hums back just to keep from hearing […]
Subscribers can read the full version by logging in. |
____________________________________
Joshua Gage is an ornery curmudgeon from Cleveland. His first full-length collection, breaths, is available from VanZeno Press. Intrinsic Night, a collaborative project he wrote with J. E. Stanley, was published by Sam’s Dot Publishing. His most recent collection, Inhuman: Haiku from the Zombie Apocalypse, is available on Poet’s Haven Press. He is a graduate of the Low Residency MFA Program in Creative Writing at Naropa University. He has a penchant for Pendleton shirts, rye whiskey and any poem strong enough to yank the breath out of his lungs.