Untitled poems
by Rauan Klassnik
[ poetry - december 09 ]
(Untitled)
Lace's spread through the branches till we're all a balloon filled with trees.
I could join them.
They've asked me to.
Like small boys do.
But the priests are sullen.
Brown-gold faces lit by small candles held in their parched old hands.
Down in their tunnels -
a sputtering green-blue haze.
Like smoked out rattlers.
They need me.
(Untitled)
She can't remember what room she's in.
It's 417.
Take a night. Then another. And another. The last moon.
Like a tree -
slowed into rot.
But my signature's beautiful.
Moths. Flocked.
Into pools.
Of Mercury. Floods of it.
Pooling.
Shells and wretches.
A hero's voice.
Tightening. Purple.
Throbbing.
