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  • The Agonist
  • Andrew E. Colarusso (bio)

I sat there-                                               watchingin tall earth                                   while a red breast

with worm half in shadow                   stood idlebeneath a birch in full bloom-                   and why

trembling I felt my pulse-                               -riseand clutch at my skinn-               touch it my sing

ed neck stung                   under light passingthrough-                   its black mandibles upon me

I pulled it from my                       neck still ragingstill flailing-                                           -at my presence

obsidian and muscular               pulled so quicklyand with such                   alarm it must ve been

torn apart from its               mandibles left pulsingin the muscles of my               throat on the paper

I threw it-                               toothless and on firebefore crushing it-                       -under my thumb [End Page 581]

its body left a residual music                           -nervesnapping its legs and antennae-                       -ticking

in a way I could no longer describe                       asanxious maybe and-                               -the bird

disturbed                                                       flew awayI was left               -with the boy s bleeding mouth

I was left                           with atonal music anda generation                               with no regard

for low flight-                                   -come screamingacross the skyline-                               I could see it

bleeding against pluto-                   -from her windowon the day                               -now I am here

where the purging is impersonal                   wherependerecki is left                       to play on a loop

in every languid parlor and                   is heavingshe no longer lives here-                               -and [End Page 582]

the earth beneath me is                           -disquietedshifting anxiously                   -when I think of her

space now occupied by                   a -noncenoisechild of white flight                   -which vacates me

trembling                               -and every lie that I amtrying                                   -to explain an absence

to justify the disrepair                       that comes witha decaying                                                   -memory

a sparrow                               fanning itself with dustwhips up a quick cloud               -diffracting light

that carries                                   increasingly diffuseacross memory lane-                       -sitting in the park

I am left to consider apostasy [End Page 583]

Andrew E. Colarusso

Andrew E. Colarusso earned the BA in comparative literature from New York University and is currently pursuing the MFA from Brown University. This native New Yorker is founding editor of The Broome Street Review.

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