Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Thirty-seven
Spring 2015
Susan Charkes

Negligent as diaphony, she twinkles,
vaulted into the Trapezium

(dots, dust, distance, dispersion)

forever: a yellow line,
marking, if nothing else,
the exertion of ardor,
the steep slope to heaven,
the blue-gray quartzite,
the steel pipe, magnetic north,
striation, syncline, talus, till.

Did you hear it when
it fell? All hail the lying
kin. Testimony was given,
then taken. In the exchange,
the softmost feelings remained.
The lock twines round the littlemost of digits, the closest to zero.
The director’s cuts are always longer. What’s left keeps growing, in the mane.
A mock growl, turned down at the corners.
Did you fold it when it fell?

It’s no only. That it happened, that it happened at all, not that it happened at the same
time or less than the same, a co-location of the outlines of the parameters is not
equivalent to the coincidence of happenstance, neither length nor time required to reach
the end, as the end is moving. She was, however, bound not to the onemost, the un-zero,
but to the re-do of the emotest. The festival, such as it was, lasted only so long as it took
to reach the end, whereupon, the return was replaced.

She flew from the cell
tower. The thing with feathers is
they take as long to reach the ground
as an anchor. Which makes
a difference in a vacuum.
What of the lock? It may
have given way.

As the plane glides,
the shavings curl.
(Did you hold it when it fell?)

About Susan Charkes

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