Brilliant collaboration from Samantha Lucero and N. Ian McCarthy on One for Sorrow. It is worth multiple readings to absorb all the crazy good language.
He forgot to carve his name onto it—my slow-dead
womb builder. So he thatched this house with reeds
as presences and struck cymbals.
I gave its shambles to the fire, heaped its mar and its
lime, and the skeletal birdcage of it into the memory
of a tongueless August mouth.
Its chasm, a door—its screen porch, a belching Madonna.
Thin-torn frankincense fumes like god-blood from the split
of its rarefying wound, where the
whole of purgatory is a scent of goulash and of low mur-
murs; the sin of knowing, a Clorox-tinged swimming pool
rash and the sponge of wood rot.
the rattletrap where i watch
in flesh-colors quiet as the static
on play-slides gallop to a cutlass.
and decrepit with me in a malibu
it rusts in happy meals. bloats on
a warm backseat corpse savoring
in fragmented leather castled by
dehydrated fries like blades.
a baby tooth
View original post 473 more words