My Ariel. Sina Queyras

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СКАЧАТЬ are a hopeless theory.

      Daily I fall from grace, the big

      Splash, whatever.

      I should have been an epic,

      Eaten footnotes, married

      Architecture, swirling through my twenties

      In classics and couture. Poetry

      Is the big lie. Oh sure, love crashed

      Into my life, a dark pillar of flight,

      A walking muscle with a slick

      Of black hair. Soon it was legal.

      A swoon of potential swelled

      In the bowl of my hips. I stared

      Into his heart but like the emperor

      I was too vain, I said, What a tower,

      What a prize! Brute love that

      Line by line we indulged, so crazed

      We wrote until we tasted

      The last of it and stunned ourselves

      With our emptiness.

      I should have gone to Hollywood.

      If you’re going to be a trophy

      You might as well go for gold.

      Stop at nothing, you who are

      Ambitious. Let me tell you this:

      There is nothing like an income

      To cheer, nothing but

      Humourlessness to fear.

       The Rabbit Catcher

      He guides you across the floor,

      Thumbing your American neck:

      Right, left, steady as a joystick.

      What’s in this for you, lady?

      You’ve already embraced

      The ledge, tossed the crinoline

      Off the roof, written yourself through

      Paralysis and into your own book.

      Was it reproduction that

      Bent you to the gilded frame?

      Like a poodle you leapt into

      A knot of gold, you entered

      The ring without armour. You

      Strike a blow, bite, don’t think

      To duck. It’s all foreplay,

      Your body preparing to multiply.

      I want to take you by the ear:

      You have a spine, use it!

      You don’t need a tarot pack

      To see where you are:

      Your rabbit heart bleats

      In a field of stones.

      Don’t just lie there

      And let it leak,

      Don’t let him

      Drink you in, sell your skin,

      And buy her roses.

       Cut

      But it wasn’t a man

      That knocked me down

      With the thrill of a slice

      Of my will.

      She was mannish,

      Chilled, flung

      Her will across

      Mine then laughed

      At my shock, when she

      Gripped my neck while

      Lingering over a request

      For the evening meal.

      Later I sliced a tomato

      Close to my wrist.

      The door was open.

      She had warned me

      Never to shut it against

      Her. Otherwise

      I was free to come

      And go. Maybe she was

      Right? I was zero

      To the bone? Meanwhile,

      I had left the hose

      In the pond. The goldfish

      Cowered in the reeds.

      Whose side were they on?

      I am ill, I thought,

      Slogging across

      Soggy green.

      If I bow any lower

      I will be looking up

      At moss.

       Thalidomide; Or, What She Didn’t Ask

      What planet have I swallowed? What

      Counsel has thickened my veins?

      What knuckle and screech

      Have I kneaded into your young minds?

      I bury my doubts like glass seeds lick

      Your knees and feet. I am only trying

      To sleep, I am only trying to spare you

      The worst of my thoughts.

      I СКАЧАТЬ