Scattered | our enemies | Long | branches of blood | in Chartres, on Instagram | this | kind of sky | only a loophole | in sleep | Smite | Smite | Smote | Smite | Smitten

Semites | Whey-faced | Walloons, Tasmanians with their haunting eyes, Yankees | Jutes with sheep and curds, soft-voiced | Thais, expert with mopeds | Pearls falling | loose from a necklace | the necks | how they bow, and twist | how bare | Smote | Smite | Smite | And you, barefoot in the evening, among daisies | You, and I, and the others… | No going | halves, now | but taking all | shall we | gather by the river, gather | while we still can | one blood under one house | and shall we | be sure | to know the signs | we make ourselves | so when our eyes open | after sleep | we may still | be?

 


from the series fleeting pixel (series of 1,000 poems, 2012–2016)
(this poem, July 2014)