so i have found out,
eyes drenched are
nothing more
but soft interruptions
in sorrow. and
i am a
vacant shout
from the breath
of a mountain;
skin pulled tight
over weathered rock,
over gasps of wind.
and in puffs of rain,
like cancer digging
a tree’s roots,
i am never-ending.
i’m sick to death
of the adolescents’ hormones:
the world’s
reasons for staying in robes;
its religion spilling down slopes.
sick to death
from the flower’s color
in the city morning
to its brown
at midnight.
i am sick to dirty death
without another step in your suburban mud.
and interruptions
in the flaky pastry of the sun
are what my feet would be
where they dance
high, stirring up sweet
fillings like a whole cherry pie
around your lips.
but i am softness there
unspeaking and lasting
beyond a toehold,
lasting beyond the loud
confection of a touch.
and my heels
as they dig in
are like badgers
at the twinge
of your disappearing smile.
Livio Farallo is co-founder and co-editor of Slipstream, currently in its 43rd
year of operation, publishing general poetry and art works, single-author
works, and themed poetry and art works. He is Professor of Biology at
Niagara County Community College in Sanborn, New York and his work
has appeared or is forthcoming, in North Dakota Quarterly, Cordite Review,
Triggerfish, Panoplyzine, Adelaide Lit. Mag., J Journal, and elsewhere.
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