It began, as these things often
do, with a slip, You added
the stewed tomatoes to the soup,
twisted your wrist, and the can
went in as well. You decided
not to fish it out. That stuff is hot,
and besides, you could use
the extra iron. From there,
the gates were open. Golf
balls in dandelion sauce,
the spider on your porch
with the erratic gait, adding
machines fresh from the vine.
You woke yesterday morning,
showered as usual. As you lathered
your hair, you felt the bony nubs
under the skin. You know you
should wash your feet, but hesitate.
While the Norwegian word for “recognition” is normally erkenning, this variant is used as the title of Vidar Dahl and Jøran Wærdahl’s 2011 film, which was my source.
INDIGNANT DESERT BIRDS
Monoceros withers through spectacles,
surveys the landscape from his mucky
river atop the amphitheater stage.
Jaws ruminate, jaundiced eyes blink
some sort of ur-morse code. the crowd
roar curiosity, with perhaps a hint
of impatience; Mighty Joe Young he is not
and rough Nibiru could collide
with us at any moment.
Even your platelets
refuse to coalesce. Soup has a greater
thickness than your marrow, and at times
you find the air difficult; you consider a move
to Denver, wonder if a rogue star
from the tail of a galaxy will vaporize
you faster when the distance
between you and the exosphere lessens.
Outside your apartment, the sky is dark,
darker perhaps than you’ve ever seen.
You wonder if that star in Sagittarius’
skirt is new, whether it has brightened.
It is never cold here
in this valley
Always warm, humid.
Prone to earthquakes.
ground, bushes, fruits
is edible, tasty.
You can catch rain
on your tongue
the guide said
you can live that way
Robert Beveridge makes noise (xterminal.bandcamp.com) and writes poetry in Akron, OH. Recent/upcoming appearances in Cough Syrup, Penumbra, and Lowestoft Chronicle, among others.