portion of the artwork for Stephen Massimilla's poetry

Frank Dark
Stephen Massimilla

Because you do not see
Because of what I hate
The graves have a right
And the throats of small birds
Impenetrable confirmation
That will not touch the purely human
Wronged, dirty-star, light-dispossessed

Nothing I say matters, substances
I could give you goat water now
The heat has not held
I know what does
At least to what I love, I know
A crack of blue glare in the woods

Content to fault and fail
Shiver of leaf-shred by this cut foot on ice
Leg-scarf stricken and burned
The nothing as far as I know
Among charred dribs
Melting into words, savagery,
I tell you

And ache too deep for Dog
For stiff paws
Blocked by god and stone
Where you emerge from no mist
No decision of sunlight to slip
Into mind, where the death-weather persists
To harass and confuse

In all its starved hearts
In all its strangled frame

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FRiGG: A Magazine of Fiction and Poetry | Issue 31 | Winter 2011