By Dora Malech
Something wonderful is about to happen to you
Say Fortune’s a poem without blood? Nope. Hung it.
Beauty flaws out, opens through omen. Pit no I do
against itself. Moon, why out too deep? Oh, burn up
our bodies. Flow. Punish. Too on path, augment, yet
let or…but… shape the map. Soon now, you unfit god, I
won’t need to sough, to blue mouth, pray of. I spin a
poor pain if owed to one, sought asylum but then
what bout of pangs honed imperiously? Tune too,
too, too us. Adieu? Nothing but my flower happens.
Road Not End
No dear don’t
read into it. Instead
edits read an it into
as in to be meant to bite
bet beast ate in motion.
Redaction is a
red action is a
scarlet
scar let
shine. Cycles
clinch yeses
yes inks out a moan now no.
As you know no means into.
then reading in the garden
my iris, know i risk my now
for you. for you,
fuchsia, intent. if us, then i can’t
stand coping, stop dancing.
all this stupid heat, a stall, the up this i’d
tend to dent. to
what’s left: it’s this last weft, the last swift,
stitches in its chest. in
thrust, be a sure suture. breaths
stake my sky, meat
left looser, lost reel of
pure monster, no petal nor stem. rope un-leapt
dares show, re-shadows.
i drown in the wind or in the when. i, rind to
sweet segments, us, wet guess, net mess,
loss. loss
is spent in steps,
into it no
answer. re-swan,
answer as wren,
bird called bed rid, call
outs and inners, sand in our nest
and i grit, daring it.
a line, lane i
veered into. need it over.
no, i wound. i didn’t hit a wall i hit a window, all not undid,
spot on. in pleasing us, a song split us open. in
no night’s fortune tunes for nothing
spent, no not pens,
not memory, not my more.
we love a vow alee
but we vow aweather, and in- bound. i want whatever awe
can find me sore, end from in case. if rose can mend
a swear: was, are,
the last poor excuses for force : aster, phlox, suet, so
a word is my bond, but my bond’s outbid. was
it fate, then and now? a theft i went on and
up? sad old itch? still. all this stupid cold.
[See: erosion]
the wave arrives:
hewer rives:
heave aves:
hear is:
Dora Malech is the auth
or of Shore Ordered Ocean (Waywiser Press, 2009) and Say So (Cleveland State University Poetry Center, 2011). Her third book of poems, Flourish, is forthcoming from Carnegie Mellon University Press in Fall 2018. Her poems have appeared in publications that include The New Yorker, Poetry, Tin House, and Best American Poetry. A recipient of Ruth Lilly, Civitella Ranieri, and Amy Clampitt fellowships and residencies, she lives in Baltimore, where she is an assistant professor of poetry in The Writing Seminars at Johns Hopkins University.
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