callum-skelton-LaMnXPLz7qc-unsplash

Photo by Callum Skelton on Unsplash

 

 

poem: UNTITLED 20

 

this smile is a jail cell

holding hostage 

centuries of laughter

 

sorry if i say the wrong things—

 

2,000 years of solitude

dripping from cheek bones

when the sirens awaken the crows

 

i wouldn’t have fled so fast

except every escape route

is covered in my foot prints

 

 

 

poem: A PRACTICE IN NEVER LOOKING BACK

 

“But when they deliver you up, take no thought how or what ye shall speak: for it shall be given you in that same hour what ye shall speak. For it is not ye that speak…” 

– Matthew 10:19 (KJV)

 

as if my life has sat beside me

in a fury of unfathomable silence

 

to see it moving like all those mouths in the mirror 

missing their names or voices—

a beaten path swallowed by the questions of those before me

 

to see through hope & fear

to see through fabrication

to look past yr own last words—

the breath sealed in the tomb of the rosebud

the breath knee deep in memories of water & wine

 

without delusion belief is nothing

without delusion what are you 

but whatever you say you are

 

without heart there is no breath

without hawk there is no sky

why else would owl be looking back from its nest—

 

i didn’t plan on pulling those voices from the river

but even the nights are not without a sense of longing 

besides, the last time i talked to someone from the county

my mouth was filled with too much blood & history to stand

for anything on my own

 

—quiet yrself & let it stagger from the tongue

as a newborn foal from the womb

 

“i will give you the words you always needed”

so long as you promise to fan the flame

behind the eyes when the mystery

shakes shadow from body

& the wind refuses to speak

 

 

 

 

poem: CARRYING SOUND

 

THE SCARY PART IS NOBODY KNOWS WHAT & IF THEY ARE HOLDING.

BREATH. VOICES. SELVES & SHELLS. PASTS & FUTURES.

 

THE REPUBLIC STANDS ON THE BACKBONE OF THE TELEVISION REMOTE.

 

WE CANNOT STOP THE PIGEONS FROM DYING OF LAUGHTER.

WE WILL NOT QUIT POURING IODINE INTO THE PUNCH BOWL.

 

POETS CAN MOVE MOUNTAINS BUT DON’T ASK ABOUT THE JOB SEARCH

OR THE MANY DEPOSITIONS OF ENDLESS ARUGULA ON ANTARCTICA.

 

NEVER TRUST AN ARTIST ALONE AT A WINDOW. 

RAISE YR CHILDREN TO BE KIND & ORNERY TOWARDS YOU.

 

I HAVEN’T CLIMBED OUT OF MY OWN EYES IN A WEEK.

LATELY ALL MY PRAYERS ARE FLOODED WITH NUCLEAR FALLOUT—

 

THE ROACHES WILL HAVE TO TELL THE OTHERS

OF CORAL REEFS, TOOTH FAERIES, HALOS, LEMON & LIME,

POTTERY, ALL THAT CAN HAPPEN IN ALLEYS, ETC.

 

 

 

 

 

 

D.C. Wojciech is the author of The Longest Breath (Anvil Tongue, 2020). He edits Silver Pinion.