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Lost Morning Eyes

 

Every answer is in the slippery grass, an olive

snake with black eyes, a black painted snake

flashing crimson. Funny how the diagnostically

lonely mind eats its fruit. Worn leather so

 

smooth beneath our clinging. I’m becoming

a swimmer. The flecks of purpose circle

the hairs beneath the surface, gritty rocks

coated firm in damask silk. Having reached

 

the absolute center of the lake, it began to

rain- I would expect one lapse to end safely- is it

the end of the self or of the body? A frog

reads posture each day the sky grows wider

 

snarling discreet whorls, this wilder temper

like a sponge creature tensing all apertures

at once. They said my father has mental health

 

problems, issues in his internal chemistry,

but all I have seen is wise lost morning eyes,

sinking distance like gauzy rind drywalled over

 

a bright synaptic charge. We inherit diseased

fish with hooks disintegrating in their bellies, one

is caught still not disgesting its mother ruin,

poor word- secret beat aflow artificial

 

tides. This pool has been widened. For

convenience snake the hose around the

torso resigning alone to kissing dawn-

 

Maybe I have not seen the truth that is

done, horror aggregated in a weak hunch

of what was done- mania is imminent, we

have swum the surrender permitting

 

swollen dams to interfere with any single

change. I can give paper to the lake coating

her skin with mine. One word for space

is panic, another is in its own private time.




Judah Aryeh Levenson