1.26.15

Chambered

And now you break me open like
a pomegranate thrown against a wall.
My heart in imitation of that fruit
has locked itself in unnumbered cells
arranged like with Sebus’ strange
symmetry. 

Our shadows tessellate on grasses
illegible as water-laden pulp. The grounds
keeper swore he saw something move—
there! By them grave sentry theatres. 

We hung round a little while past the
presentation, broadening our cultivation,
blazoning a complex coat of arms behind
our heads, talking excitedly, on Artemis,
our voices grew in tiers like shrubs baring
all of their fatal, chambered fruit in a
single season.

Artemis, born of a quail, you told me,
broke a pomegranate to wear for a
serrated crown. I knew from my own
readings she once tamed a bear, and
went round in a chariot pulled by golden
horned deer. 

And I thot but did not say to you that I am
like her, for men who saw her naked body
befell tragedy. I am uninterested however
in archery. I am shot at, not the one to shoot.
Also, I have been flanked, times, on
either side by common blue butterflies.

poem 1.23.15

self portrait 1.26.15