They Will Sew the Blue Sail


When the zero in the parking lot

is the grocer tossing

human hands into the dumpster

Vera touches lit

candles to her throat but instead of birds

Nonny appears

drops a pig at Vera’s feet

slinks off into the cave Gilded

Squalor where Vera finds her days

later rumming by the fire

Acts ensue deliberate and fierce

In the morning

the grocer arrives with a crazed

look on his face

Beside him his son is choking on a bone

Vera massages the candles

over his throat, clearing it

The grocer flees

as Nonny acts on the boy

his gorgeous youth, and so it goes

Suke or Sacha, it mattered once

the arbor life turned

inside out by holy dolls

holy moths

flickering windows at the Adlon

Hotel where the day’s

shape does not match

Vera’s particular arrangement

of candles greeting hoppers

pushing stainless

trolleys filled with bowls

of pork, concealer to hide the scars

that mark the skin a rib came through

sugar orbs and other

charms she stuffs in her mouth

till the choking cough

reveals the human warmth it takes

to exchange amber for injury

incurred when citrus

is less in the room than her

and the two halves of the halved

pig flanking

her shoulders like wings, white disease

blossoming in her cheeks

like daisies erupting in reverse

tight knobs she lacerates to ease

the strain, arms thrashing

involuntarily against

the difficulty of choosing what to bless

as if conditions could be

changed if only impulse could

keep her safe from carnation

skin events, dark fruits

throats cannot reject