quiet bees

Lorraine Doran writes & teaches in Brooklyn: lrdoran at gmail dot com.

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Blue Benn Diner

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Skywriting

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BQE

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hey sister, hey sister things move on their own

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Autotomy

In danger, the holothurian cuts itself in two. It abandons one self to a hungry world and with the other self it flees.

It violently divides into doom and salvation, retribution and reward, what has been and what will be.

An abyss appears in the middle of its body between what instantly become two foreign shores.

Life on one shore, death on the other. Here hope and there despair.

If there are scales, the pans don’t move. If there is justice, this is it.

To die just as required, without excess. To grow back just what’s needed from what’s left.

We, too, can divide ourselves, it’s true. But only into flesh and a broken whisper. Into flesh and poetry.

The throat on one side, laughter on the other, quiet, quickly dying out.

Here the heavy heart, there non omnis moriar— just three little words, like a flight’s three feathers.

The abyss doesn’t divide us. The abyss surrounds us.

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(via C. D. Wright: Imaginary Morning Glory)

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In recent months I have become intent on seizing happiness: to this end I applied various shades of blue: only the evening is outside us now propagating honeysuckle: I am trying to invent a new way of moving under my dress:

C.D. Wright

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Masayoshi Sukita

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Thanks, Tom.