Miscast & Night root
by Ian Seed
[ poetry - october 09 ]
Miscast
Into the room by the stair
stinking of blood - a butcher
You stop loving each time
you leave the station with a stranger
We are both in trouble
A disclaimer: these blood vessels
are the deepest
for you have danced so stiffly
in a glade of the little copse
coming in, wet
watching the thin leaves
Twice you’ve promised to shave
the headless trunk
bored with too much sex
Interrogate the clouds
chop the leaves finely
His own cut has spread
through his massive face
in your lap’s softest spot
Do you think it’ll rain?
The new song is in the leaves
the young queen on her coin
Night root
For my father
you avoided the moment
with soft thumbs
pressed on nerves underground
a cry then silence
this sudden pulling without now
enter further
a touch unravels the butterfly
bone through skin
their peeled faces
and blurred stars
dream into nails
wake into wings
a child’s forgiveness
stains alive
its measure
root over
the smallest
unburnished hand
