Friday, March 1, 2019

Three Poems by Mary Kasimor

thinking that for beethoven’s requiem

from the solid structure
from day to night
(thinking that)
I risked everything

as I slept
clearly obsessing
I missed the obvious
the memory 
lost in a jar of buttons

looked for the unattached
(and) birth
the road suffered
from ditches
babies in still moons

never moved our hours
fixing the machinery
that was an exciting time
for misunderstanding
denial because we threw away
lost reasons

the last self protects
a last minute
driving down a busy road
towards the calmness
of wheat fields
by the lawns with wild trees
for beethoven’s opening requiem

medusa repeats herself

she repaired what I wrought
repeating herself
repeating her hands
so many of them
the sun got more sarcastic
throwing itself around
you have the most grotesque selves
apart from many others
after becoming liquid
tongues i became all of them
i was ignored until the early morning
i wanted to wear red lipstick
i wanted to mouth my words
i wanted to have ideas with numbers
it controlled something--knowing the ideas
in long straight lines only getting longer
it was a hectic undertaking
among the red and orange balloons
counting flowers
perfect hybrids
i was a bumblebee cute as reality
i made the stars pressed into the ceiling
i took a bus to everywhere
it may have been in a desert with windy kisses
having felt the edges of touching i stood
in the other room the walls glorifying the pain
embolding consent among the monsters
in the tapestry where i was trapped

aching dirt

I made myself up
Because I was an orphan
Becoming even less
Becoming absolute emptiness
Filling despair the rivers return loss
Oceans balloon into broken horizons
Opening and closing the doors to prison
We are un-useable and unstable ovals
Immersed in no such greatness
I never forgot and I never remembered
Comfort was a reason
I walked away and left behind a fragrance
I was stuck in a small town
Carrying my sacrifice without excuses
Giving you my left foot
And my spine that left me crooked
Buried in the aching dirt
I also got to die

Mary Kasimor who has been writing poetry for many years, considers her work experimental. Her recent poetry collections are The Landfill Dancers (BlazeVox Books 2014), Saint Pink (Moria Books 2015), The Prometheus Collage (Locofo Press 2017), and Nature Store (Dancing Girl Press 2017). Her poetry has been published in many journals, including Word For/Word, Touch the Donkey, Posit, Human Repair Kit, Arteidolia (collaboration with Susan Lewis), and Otoliths.

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