Reb Livingston

 







Seven Spell

 

conjured in a closet;

seven minutes in a delusive boon

 

deep breaths shallow,

ankles stretched, entwined

 

ribs padded with throbs,

bells and trance

 

it never ended and then

it ended

 

the spell distant,

retrospect, precious

 

the doorways, hall-

ways, the fleeting pitter

 

patters gaze

up a long flight of stairs

 

something's still

there to behold

 

is it sorcery or charm?

invoke a comely name for it

 

recall your palms

flattening my thrum,

 

my thrum, my good judgment groped,

ravaged, delirious









Brevity is Not My Soul



for a few minutes, I tricked myself

 

placed faith in the talent of fingers

 

speculated past lives wanted relived

 

it ended and it never began

 

blurry as truth, I

 

averted more than eyes

 

no future tryst scheduled, our ankles

 

never to entwine again, and this was your

 

aspiration, you always understood and it

 

occurred and it didnít occur to you

 

just how unjaded I was clasping hands

 

here I am, conjuring more liability

 

here I am, spare one moment more, spy my

 

tripping, a paper trail of failed chants and exhibits

 

a few scratched lines I pray will suffice









Another Roundabout

 

Neither courage nor fear smite

tears for they have no way to reach here.

Growing up meant

 

boarding up, moving, no forwarding address,

no longer bunking with lies of chipper guise.

Growing up, the formal introduction to joy,

 

Complicated and controlled

my own state-of-the art pleasure dome, a

high-secure facility I rule as Caesar.

 

What I'm admitting to is kidnapping

possibly slavery, she cannot

leave, take visitors, she's mine alone.

 

Muzzled and panting, joy heads my chariot,

Drags me round and round the pit-filled track.

It's just us two girls.

 

I laugh.Often.

This is my will.

This is my given.









On Realizing There Wonít Be a Ceremony

 

Donít call me feminine and excessive and screw you, I know that temple, I took her picture and

it's she who doesn't remember me, the only one who knew to bring a red fritter to the reception.

She thinks she's cute and I'm impressed with her sanctity and her little pews too.








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