I write as myself      a rock lost

in this sackcloth

of earth and curses

       in this informal time

the words are loosened

and jitter around       it is

The caffeine in the wind blowing

south          leaving behind

the north’s ego flees the moment    

because the world       is a terrifying place

           if you think about breathing

in the bloody veins of invention

which the sky

keeps organic      coal from

its guts

a list       a meaning

means pinning down its

wings       the confinement

of gardens throwing out

       black-eyed susans

rhubarb has a tartness      

and it is a fruit

that disturbs the heart

           my heart is in

blood red

black outlines its exit

sloughing off death    the crickets

cry for curved and contained notes

in space to vacate


Mary Kasimor