THE OTHER SVETLANA
Nothing is a sooner errand than night As it moderates the clean and holey Population signals Too complicit and limber to articulate the other Side of personality’s long glance
Curving beyond the eager and inconsolable Laundromat. We file out from Each dusk like beautiful countries Looking upward to the ruptured myth Of north. One such example is nature And nature’s zombie, another resurfacing Ice climbing a future woman.
The way a broom makes a home deliberately Out of view and over time becomes Notorious for the big frogged skirt Sun leaves where available. I trust my barbed Wired, girlish righteousness
To do the job inexplicably: the eggs dry on the house and no one Puts their foot in this grave: it’s not “their” grave: tell them Before the red sock turns loose like eugenics for salmon Lamenting closets. In time We are all the prime suspect
In our continuing lives, where the sweet hats swim And love like a drained alphabet boxes More tired than often. This is the skyscraper Or two intended from the beginning, only now and then Flitting in covertly as resurrected meal tickets. The trouble is did I say it. The real
Porchlight people split a plane Like white wide swords digging benignly Through a pre-flattened hearth. Sometimes God is like my name For the culprits we haven’t named, or, sorry, the other Svetlana.
