Blue Matter
Those blue-blue dogs, cerulean, azure-tongued in their night sweaters
as if god had moved the sky for them
those rough beasts, turned futile by empirical formulas
minus water in the cornflower afternoons
wandering through the broken down factories
as if, to reach heaven
peacock mutts, smash-ribbed, pawing the dirt
as if, to unearth a thunderous amen
as if, the night might spill over them like
a Prussian lullaby and they would be found
slumbering at last, through guilt’s sapphire echo.
After I Borrow Schopenhauer’s Goggles
The summer became a book
became a soft breeze
whistling through the sardine cans
read me, love me
a voice fat with gallons of words
boomeranging its way back to us
being and not being
the book became a knife
became a violin weeping
in the empty orchestra pit
hear me, believe me
the theory of chapters
composed on piano keys
made of fingernails
the paper became a petticoat
became a lover
flinging verbs out of the cockpit
into the mouths of ravenous nuns
wading bookless through 5 o’clock.
______________
Lillian Necakov is the author of six books of poetry, numerous chapbooks, broadsides and
leaflets. Her new book il virus is forthcoming from Anvil Press (A Feed Dog Book). She ran the Boneshaker Reading series from 2010-2020. She lives in Toronto, Canada.
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