Leveler Poetry Journal
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Husk 

 

Etching phases of the moon into a chicken bone

But the cicadas stop me from hearing you complain about childhood

Or your mother

who between long sections of bamboo is undressing

To show us what they’d removed

I find a flint knife and chuck it

At the heart of the event

A jade skirt

Young maze, ear of my ear

The cicadas stop me from hearing you tell me how I am loved

I find a cleanser for my soul

And I take it with me into a bar fight

with the floral deities

And they sing me a little song

They grant me immortality but leave me without eternal youth

But it is our cataclysmic minds that sulk in a husk of doubt

Which I eat, when it’s tender

And the cicadas stop me from sleeping alone

Animate entities that beat their chests when they are horny

And you try to teach me how to replace her or him

I find a tarot card and chuck it  between the ribs of the Event

And I finger it

To investigate

If it is wholly there.




Noland Bo Chaliha