Known— thumbtorn heliotrope, ambidextrous start of skin; Truthspun tunics, dressed like air— Had we names For worser things, we’d name them: I You
Unknown— Real mercy and swiftness Sun— It all decreases Rapidly, like Gods, with their folded worn-in centers; Yes, When death comes, it only comes after being
Known— pomegranates, bursting fruit, Bite of it— Serpent, Layer and laid down; mothers, fathers, the wombusurped beginning And end: We tread fine pace amidst snakes’
Unknown— hushing word; waist high renewal In our century of lies, lungs shut with hubris and decay, To inspire like closed doors: the First memory
(Un)Known— all these incantations, the altar top— Birth’s retreating flame And I, You, whatever we are— when spirit is making, not made, since Under water, only God can hear us breathing
Come Closer
I’ve stopped. Taking my meds. I don’t know why: I melt in dark spots, on the sheets there ‘s lint I can’t peel. I dream there’s a grave in my hand 3 feet deep nerves webbed and holed full o f fragrances, fruit. I dream there’s excesses on my face the violence is pale. I’m putting commas in my veins but poetry, i t’s still, what’s the word ? We can write about flow ers without seeing them. Girls are putting out fires somewhere where there’s fire. Light makes parallel lines in a memory I am remembering today, the lines, being swallow ed by the wall. I write I, vertical and disobedient. Just a faint pebble-sized thing, riverine no incarnadine no, still I’ve im agined something softer: my hand in a pool of water no one else can see.
Lucas L. Fernandes holds degrees in both English and Philosophy from Salem State University. He is currently seeking out MFA programs crazy (or stupid) enough to accept him. You can find him looking for answers somewhere in the gloam. X: @recluseslacuna
