Arsenic Lobster
poetry journal |
Issue Twenty-one Winter 2009 |
of the dark Jacob Rakovan the dog is snoring you do not forgive me and are sleeping, a rigid knife in the bed and the shiphouse is moored to the front trees you are gone, into sleep today you have been a dying woman you have given the beauty and mercy of your lies to strangers and so given me this unforgiving truth before sleep, the house I allow myself to think we share, sleep is lonesome as a storm, and the dreaming face you wear is not for me is an imagined cancer for yourself is imagined crimes in an imagined city I will go and sleep beside the blade of your silence, and chase you, a keystone doctor herky-jerky with apologies, my silent mouth spitting black and white locomotives and mimed apologies, cards between scenes in a script noone can read |
About Jacob Rakovan |