Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Thirty-seven
Spring 2015
 
Archipelago #5
Adam Hughes

tonight the moon is full of ink,
waiting for the month to be written
in increments of cuticle;
proverbs written in the accent of an exile,
azaleas unfolding overnight,
a cenote ready for offerings to fugitive gods,
the only son inquiring of the ram

laying in the demidark, summoning
ancient warsongs in as many
dead languages I can think of;
hearing whispered transmissions,
conversations on frequencies
never meant to be tapped –
domestic squabbles disguised
as sacred incantations

outside, beneath the cloudseas,
wet horses like monks to midnight prayer,
I am seduced beyond forgiveness
as they hunch their matins

About Adam Hughes

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