Arsenic Lobster poetry journal Issue Thirty-six
Winter 2014
 
The Book of Everyday Life
George Kalamaras

It is written in The Book of Everyday Life that no other book is necessary.
If there’s a moment of compassion it has to do with a slow draining sink.

Consider the owl fiercing it out in my chest with equitable fire.
I’ve got an ordinary air boundary marking my kingdom of deposed bones.

Sure, I’m discrete, but I’m not the one of us who spoke of burnt milk as a
      blood error
in the first place.
Pity some cold, wet fallacy and the willow’s dreadlocks masking my walk.

If we only knew how to touch one another’s pain as if it were love.
I might mouth you toward dissolve if you would but speak my name in
      threes.

Only the lotus mud you emerged from.
Only The Book of Everyday Life could possess such feats.

Previous Poem | Next Poem