January 1, 2012
Jan 1, 2012
Vast forests have already been sacrificed
In the marble halls of the bad bank for this:
Now that portions of the glacial ice have calved to reveal stone
That hasn’t been exposed for thousands of years,
In the secret history of my left eye, which, incidentally,
Turns, empty & black, like the xeroxed surface of a brook,
Coastal cities simply vanish into the sea.
The planet’s been knocked off its orbit by half a kilometer,
In here, behind this tiny terraqueous globe, under great pressure,
Where I have stored away the tiny pearl of your face.
If I were the death of ice, I’d calve.
If I were deep waters, the birth of flesh
Would be whispered in overtones of fire.
If I were Corpus Christi, I’d simply vanish into the sea.
While we have you...
...we need your help. You might have noticed the absence of paywalls at Boston Review. We are committed to staying free for all our readers. Now we are going one step further to become completely ad-free. This means you will always be able to read us without roadblocks or barriers to entry. It also means that we count on you, our readers, for support. If you like what you read here, help us keep it free for everyone by making a donation. No amount is too small. You will be helping us cultivate a public sphere that honors pluralism of thought for a diverse and discerning public.
January 01, 2012