Bobbi Lurie

Miasma

---

maggots are small minutes in the trash i saw them

greatest love comes to those closest to death keenest love comes to those who die quickly less love to those misdiagnosed or diagnosed prematurely or who outlive their sentence of death due to no diagnosis substantial enough to care for or to be sated from caring rooted in the earth is the death sentence people speed across to or from with that which cools this fever trees bleed amber crying is a bell which chases most away little honor much expectation dance of flattery steps away little is late and later is less each directly walks desultory no amnesty and therefore suffer forever from misdiagnosis maggots are small minutes (sixty seconds) in the trash i saw them appear while etching in an unventilated space where i intaglioed your name unmarried are the granite slabs we meet alone that camouflage a life where fewer falter well forgiveness is a seldom mouth if ever engrave his name bury the loss of home what needs a place at any cost a coverlet or word like bodice gone forever is the sense of lace i dare not give the name of the city though i begged not to leave mounds of please broken shells of careful walk across the lack of vowels and how we did not give a single detail of biographical text as if either of us chose so why talk intentionality betrayal is in the eye of the beholder wrestling a word which might have been a silent thin veneer of caring it’s a myth that’s why

Other work by Bobbi Lurie may be found in Otoliths #8, #9 and #10.

 
 
 
previous page     contents     next page