O Y S T E R B O Y R E V I E W [ 7 ] |
Jeffery Beam
from S U B M E R G E N C E S
And the Shadow enters me. Enters the snapdragon path in the center of my chest, the bronze being murmuring in my stomach, captivated by release, captivated by the body of pain. I remember now the vast sun unpeels its skin each wintera lizard. The golden chiefs give feathers of blue to hide their magic in . . . women of citrus gather blossoms the moon gives them soaking the petals for oils. The sleek triumph of a man's body insistent all-owning transparent tiger-lillies lasting only an hour in the jar, leaving a residue of fragrance and blood, residue of light boiling in the bowl. Death strides through my belly, awakening the mum-odor of silence, a vast unbreakable silence pure as granite thick as noon snow. As I turn, a face lifts its fisheyes from the snow. Quietly the white settles on my shoulder. Alone with the moon, my ointments bleed into the streets, leaning forever against the dragonwings of the sun.
Using the body as a tool to realize
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