portion of the artwork for Ray Corvi's poetry

Ray Corvi

Look at this most peculiar

Though it has fallen
bees still go to it

         as though our nights were never
         made of midnight blue

         or run through by a gale

whereon the sovereign bird discards
its wings mid-flight

         as one would a ladder climbed
         to the attic of the mind

         somehow counting motes of dust
         in a light gone slat-

         Use song:

The song of several solitudes
progressive in propinquity

to grief-worn solace
the self that is solemnity

crying: I can hear you

skeptical of truth



who mauled the lion tamer
              as a favor

              for a friend

I shall not make promises forthwith

of a hue as green
as the iris of an indigene

colored fatal eau de Nil

much too near the music
              of metastatic midnight look:

The sky it presses inward
The hour of caesura

when the mute earth sings

like the burning beams
of a burning house

                           He couldn’t get out …

She mouths the words:

                           “It’s ok”

& they enter my mind a mantra
that annihilates my self

               This is where it lives
in the pit of my gut-feeling

                           ere I die
perform your autopsy

when you construct

              &         re-

my         child-

tell them all I’m someone else

There is no greater miracle
than the freedom of the will




cuts                                            &

mitered                                      unbidden


your homespun


at the perihelion


              primal scene

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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 59 | Spring/Summer 2022