The Literary Review

Page 45

Page 47

Issue 10 Page 46

The Commencement of Segregation

He simply cannot open a door to exploring other parts of how a marathon runner holds together. “Eventually I’m just going to have to take a nap,” he said. Protests erupted on the streets of several European cities. His girlfriend, both a bailiff & a locksmith, continues to hurtle downward.

That gives us the recognition as a region which we will be eating with extreme endeavor & key demands. “No joke. I was, like, commencing without polonium, pushing my body to make it better & better.” Heavy frames simply disguised a parachute opening under lab conditions, a battle being waged by those with an unthinkable desire for power that the average citizen nurtures but cannot satisfy.

Taking his time before hurling himself through the air, it becomes clear that the new owner of the apartment, a madman, has also learned to lipread. “The issue should be more about having a united voice & body,” he sees. “It’s one possibility that is worth being investigated to the absolute limit.” By the Sixties, he was profoundly deaf.

Listen

She watches the fingers

move, spells out the words

they are signing, is told

there are 53 ways of pro-

noun-sing the key word,

along with synonyms &

related words. She also

learns that the song of

that name by Beyoncé is

written in the key of B

major, is set in common

time at a moderately slow

groove of 62 beats per

minute, & is classified as

a soul-R&B ballad. None

of this makes sense to her,

but she still delights in the

moving fingers, & the un-

spoken memory of at least

two poems by Wallace

Stevens that they trigger.

From the Pound Cantos: CENTO XXXI

The smell of hay under the olive-

trees. In the half-light, the tower

like a patron of the arts, decked

all in green, pigment flakes from the

stone. Forked branch-tips, flaming

as if with lotus. The god stood by

me, fearing no bondage nor the

bounds of deepest water. The peach-

trees shed bright leaves in the water.

Those leaves are full of voices. Caught

up in their cadence a man of no for-

tune & with a name to come. Clouds

bow over the lake. For sacrifice, a

young boy loggy with vine-must.

geographies: Malayayalam

Tradition dictates

that a deity in his

feminine aspect be

depicted by curved

lines in the nimbus.

Fashion replaces that

by posing him in a

carelessly flaring

skirt & surrounding

her with scented

soy wax candles.

A line from Paul Celan

Some pirates rattled sticks

of incense while others

sprinkled alcohol all around.

Stuck to tradition, though —

only cedar from Lebanon, rum

from Jamaica, was good en-

ough for them. Anything else

was thrown out to the sea.