Stacey DUFF
Forma Urbis
City of the tertiary star.
Of winter green, ploughed mint.
Against the waves the hills are rolling in, Lady Wang
plucks her bashful Pleiades.
Of misericordia, the gutters and the groove. Day is
warm you open your window to. You open a windowless
day:
Keitel
albatross seed dog
lovely slut
In the dryest corner of your mouth, orchids are
lingering. When you roll your eyes to the right, city
forgets. Rolling the city shall be called Nathaniel,
shifting dream of the House of Heaven.
City of the wounded palace, sailors leap out.
Karaoke. Entangled legs. A platter of kiwi on the sly.
north beach
shanghai
clover
Of the quartered kiss, he slaps what concrete her
sandals give way to spit on.
Poetry, a morning of broken vows.
Last rights of honeysuckle.
Splendid father, picking grapes in the autumn mist.
The Forest Hollow Light
Madrigals of the bleeding terrain, stone pigeons drown
vast feathers in the thighs of the bomb.
The reeds—
A tourniquet named Splashing Trout while grasshoppers
nest the wounded. Whose path is fresh, my body of the
mother?
For frost also sings down the well. Dawn is singed
and suns storm the far oaks of purchase—among fronds,
among ferns, a price.
Our Apocalypse is Transferrable
If angels explode the stopgap
issue us a subatomic course.
Above the harbor, egrets
capitulate desire:
I love your cunt, dawn
aching in mid-sentence.
What's on your mind these days
since Paco's been stripped
of his oils, his winding wind-borne
love rippling above the sails?