We listened to a recording that was the color
of warm spice on an April morning trying to stay
pinned to the surface locked into the aspects
of texture and range
the context that reflected back those visions
still finding their way into our dreams
we followed the marks that were notched into trees
the splashes of blue paint on garbage cans
and dumpsters our noses twitching at the stink
of it a hospital smell as pervasive as squirrels
in the backyards of this town
to the bridge and leaned over the parapet
watching the schools of fish that twisted like
the iron in our blood like a pale and fat opossum.
Click here to read Paul Ilechko on the origin of the poem.
Image: photo by novila misastra on Unsplash, licensed under CC 2.0.
- Carcinoma Dream - April 5, 2024