December 2012 - Comments Off

Sonnet to Fiona Apple

Sam Mayer '13

after Rilke
There were lights like eyestalks there, and lesbians
drinking beer. There were two boys in the balcony
smoking a joint and a gold ceiling painted in clouds.
There was darkness, then, almost imperceptible, She-

There was a face, smarting and a-glow, eyes like stalks of light
shooting up towards the deep midnight purple night sky.
There was an ankle scratching another ankle; imperceptible
tics and then she was to be on the floor, then salty breath on wires.

Dare to be Fiona Apple. Dare to push a spastic, veiny lyre
towards the sky towards my face, dare to creep inside
an ear and lay your gooey roe inside its throbbing drum. There
was a pile of organs there, throbbing under a sweet blue light.

And even if I was, what would I do with my face?
Could I control my muscles, could you?

Published by: in Poetry, Volume 69: Issue 1

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