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Andromeda Marks Poem
what colour do we wanna look at?
red, of course, like the doorway i knew in childhood
like the blood whispering through the pipes of an egret
it doesn’t matter
yawning voice draining unconscious energy from dying room
the boy on my left keeps opening and shutting his calculator
like a hollow refrigerator
orange-faced girls bustling into lines with warpaint on their eyes
don’t overthink it, don’t overthink, don’t think
they say form is never more than an extension of content
but everything is form
if only i could shape shift so easily
i would fit myself into the negative spaces of the atmosphere
and make tacky jewelry from the entrails of humans
after all, if you can’t figure out what to do with it
chop it off
if it’s important, it’ll grow back
just like the gouged eyes of the nordic prophet
bronze-headed swans are tripping in the rattle crash of the pond
making gilded love to dead water and sunlit reflections
i light a small fire beside me and the molecules press against my fingertips
but yellow is terrible terrible terrible
i feel like a root turning over
it’s so boring to write about having a body
and connection to the earth is tenuous
muddy sludge sleuthing sewers
brown dirt caught under the fingernails of hardheaded construction workers
it’s been ages since i’ve seen the mountains
there are no pine trees here but i can still hear
their green phalanges scratching the glass
but where do all the bags of rejected m&m’s get sent?
in that case, let’s pick blue
everyone knows the blue i mean
the midnight coffee, discount supermarket shopping, haven’t slept in four days blue
even now the air is cobalt and i am ravenous
Copyright © Andromeda Marks | Year Posted 2017
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