Poem of the Day
Twins
By Dorothea Lasky
Man in an Easter suit
Leans into me
To kiss me
But I am not in the mood for that
I turn and cough
I am desirable
Man in an Easter suit
Leans into me
To kiss me
But I am not in the mood for that
I turn and cough
I am desirable
In my hat I sit
in my cellar
waiting
The enemy’s late
Those photographs
of Brezhnev’s death, of Brezhnev’s corpse in state: the
forced
lilies stuffing his coffin, the million mourners in their
threadbare Kremlin.
I told you the words to it oriole.
Now when an ear come
say it right.
Kiss the mother
that needs to become
that needs to need
grounding
I’m going to make a poem out of nothing.
Having worn my camouflage for leisure
I am William, who by nature needs to chant triste now, I’ll make
this song from it
In my experience—waking
life—nothing had readied me for such an arrival.
They say that when a goose flies south it holds a twig in its beak to keep from making a sound the hunters might hear.
I had an accident but lived in elegance
on methamphetamines and small stacks
of Black Beauty paperbacks