Bobbi Lurie


hell is not an exterior realm


the imageless branches of my past 
you bloom in my inner view
imprecise memory kept running through
mind a turnpike of wrong turns
the unread poem in my palm 
all unspoken all unspoken all unspoken



the poet’s homeland is his poem

hide yourself in middle of flames
no one’s going to save you
the feel of the breathing body
one day your questions will disappear
everything fought for was essentially unreal
nothing but the illusion of time



you are what’s happening right now

nothing here is real. or unreal.
an imagined representation of something else
it’s hyper real. trying too hard.
without trying everything blooms. flowers clouds
thoughts relationships. die as well. die
as well. it all dies. all



my life is largely a secret

even from me even from me
this phantom which only sees itself
to stay connected while being yourself
become the place of your gaze
looking out at the cosmic vastness
a world of surfaces and solitude



you must unfold yourself. be wide 

undo the folds. stretch yourself out 
unfold the cloth of your life 
and lie flat stretch yourself out 
the light will work on you
the light which comes from above 
the light which lives in love

Bobbi Lurie's fourth poetry collection, the morphine poems, was published by Otoliths.

 
 

previous page     contents     next page