May 2015 - Comments Off

Phoebe Jordan-Reilly

Sap People

There’s a file on me made of bark,
oozing amber, full.
I get comfort from those who are still
in the woods
from the way they bite the hot bent

thighs of the birch, how they swell
and march for the pods in the brush.

Today I outlaw the pin.
I’ve seen ruptures
and sewers of gum.
If I don’t keep my legs crossed like this
blue locusts come spurting out.

The keys drop onto the table
while you burn my fur coat.
The white paste of my mouth
sticks onto yours, touching
the fur at your cuffs, ripping
the smut from your hairy throat.

Earlier I saw the paws bat the berries
bloated in your skin; I caught seed.
Believe me, I am waiting for the fluff,
the mess. I am never softer

than when
I’m seeping.

Fashion Batteries

I hang around on spinning wheels
in a warehouse with a lake in it.
By the inflatable trees that pass
over the cold snaps of the people
in the security monitor.

Here, I lean into the willow; here
the witch walks out of the water and tells me
if the hard ropes I’m heaving are too much
I should swing out a sacrifice to her
to feel my hair wet against my back.

I’ve met human teeth; do you not know I wish
I could forget what I’ve been patrolling?
For once I’d like to pass the chain link and fail
to see more than some paint
glistening in the gravel.

I want your armies to put the spikes down.
If we could just for a moment change our trades
you can be the one to hold the barbs to their skin
and I will put in new fashion batteries
for one night where I do not clatter,
but stretch.

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