Fluvial by Sam Moe
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Image | Chuot Anhls |
Fluvial
Primero, he sticks a little pin in your heart
but you don’t care, you’re a crop without
guts, eel body sprouting flowers, sorry
for all the hurting and lying, but girl,
next time bring a knife.
And there is no way to tell this story.
In the center of her living room, a pit,
real, yawning, stretching into soft
earth, mud, meals for worms, my
god, this isn’t anther lie, no way,
there is a mother’s scream sealed
in a jar.
You don’t know how to break
lines, lies, wrists, but you spend
hours researching splints, fractures
something you might use as a lie
if you relapse and must work in
bandages, the lies come easily,
senselessly.
Black dress, pearl tugs, wishing to
be past this, high at the party, bad
but no one wants that, even hot red
tongues of cows know better than to
lick the wolves, are you pissed off
because you’re the best or the worst
version of yourself? Quíen sabe.
You’ve told too many people and
now it’s impossible to hide how you
love to damage yourself. How you
yourself are damaged beyond any
hope. Someone gets mad at you
for the lack; you don’t care. Roll
your eyes. Think about how lucky
everyone is you don’t pitch a fit
at dinner.
Back to the pins. Hungry for riding
Crops, conversations about likeness
and lifelines, you like gentle tango
music, you miss your grandmother,
you build little poem houses around
your trauma but nothing, not even
your best efforts, can stop the blood.
Sorry for the bites, northerns, pikes,
largemouth, got a pair of lungs swimming
with history and sunshine, notice the
pattern, little bluegill, pequeña disculpa,
midas, bowfin, chain, golden shiner,
time waste.
Pero solamente una vez quieres ser
perfecta sin dificultad, quieres lo que
quieres, en ningún orden en particular:
vivir, morir, sangre, sangria, solamente
nada, una vez.
© Sam Moe
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Sam Moe |
A very intriguing poem!
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