Harmful, Harmless, and: The Deaf Dalmatian, and: Aubade

Harmful, Harmless

Things are classified by the amount of harm
they contain, according to Katie
who wears only pastel like an exotic melon.
Under the shade, the dove-grey iris of her eye
deepens while I pose:
I am her model this afternoon and beyond –
which crushes the gills of inky caps
dissolved overnight there,
and elsewhere. By the time
she pincettes a photograph in her dark room,
this world will be leaf-thin, drained of all pigments
save the ink of melting mushroom,
and I will be putting the toxic berries into
my mouth though their red won't show.

The Deaf Dalmatian

After an hour of walking around the lake,
I nearly fainted. Lying on the sofa now,
I'm not sure if it was really you
I walked with. All I can remember is
your dumb Dalmatian. For the longest time,
I believed her deafness was caused
by the dark spots on her skin,
which seemed to wiggle and multiply
whenever we felt uneasy about the weather,
or with each other along the mossy path.
It was our third tour around the myth-ridden lake;
you did not propose to me.
While those dots kept on covering your dog
like blurred constellations, we smelled mud,
mildewed leaves, and a few mushrooms crushed
under the feet of unconscientious joggers.

I didn't tell you
I was afraid of your dog, or that
my period had just started.
Once inside the house, my breath is still white;
from the kitchen, a sound of you fragmenting
earth-black Dutch chocolate
to increase my blood sugar.
As I doze on the sofa,
flaming beads continue to trickle down
through my hollowness and chill.
A nightmare might be shaped like a pomegranate
my frozen fingers break into.
Until now, I didn't know my body could turn itself
into a complete hourglass –
how quietly, uselessly, these bright seeds pass.

Aubade

Run as the horizon bleeds gold
a jar of marmalade just shattered
inside your sister's eyes, your favorite

cat, she wants to step on your waist,
crush your clavicles, and throw out
your adult drink, dandelion-yellow

sparking mercurial beads glass after
glass; she has given up human speech
her incessant failures in trained desire,

she will needle her way through
your reason as a ray of madness,
unforgiveness and strange gratitude

without ever turning her face; let her
go, remember the public garden
in Montmartre, a sheer wildness kept

on purpose no one would explain why, but
truly, you should have known all along
such space is a necessity for your

survival – tumbleweed, your anger
being fucked away from your country,
your ever-thinning bones a skeleton

of glassy latticework; two opposing tongues
your grid of nervousness, your sister's
marigold tail points at your sweetness

without integrity, you have known
all along – let her go, she will tear
your nightmares, their thick fabric, a confused

murmur of foreign voices, she will not
relent, she will remain untamed, desirous,
will not learn to translate, will learn nothing –

Go, with your mouth bleeding bitter gold honey
your sister's now blind lens, sensuous dream;
Listen: you need not forgive, never starve.