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through eyes
baby-eyed
[I could not replace
the larynx with steel]
to this: a world
of elaborate mistakes
& you
drawing the breath
of bleak histories
into your lips
exhale, Spring
you better swing 'way, fast
the old terra cotta
is cracking, darling...
this night, brief in this
this night, exacts quick space
...I gave you
too much of one heart
spirit of this air
is your silence
Melted Patterns
Dripping with
or what dampens
or other
lovers tapping in the watermark kiss
or what my eyes
appear warped
a thousand times over
to dream of plucking coordinates
from the nerve endings
(such an adjustment for the sight)
drips out a haze, haze of
numbed nevers.
If not
the shape is reckless
in its form
disappears within
the burden of inaccessible radiance
to the particulars of grace
the particulars of tongues
held
nostalgic in plunge
Matina L. Stamatakis currently resides in upstate New York. She has had
works published in Free Verse, YEW, The Volta, La Petite Zine, Coconut,
and many others. She enjoys spending time with her family and
photography.