Tuesday, June 11, 2013

Molly Gaudry


Emerge, lion-maimed. Expand
a monstrous mouth. Between awe
and the child without a face, know

of the wolf. Remark: “Shame
in its creature heart,” but never
needle it. That emits bones, notes

its tongue. A lizard has her dividing
masks, will also voice means: if that
was at the atrium, the sister terrarium’s

difference is picture crystals: common
peaches. The icicles: glass cinders.
A water flame unfurled, a child

face, a window circle, a rose voice,
a lizard figure, a capitalized sun dot—
not a word painting. The grass hovel

where mercury wanders but points
monolithically treats intimately
this written wheezing, becomes

still, looks south against the last.
Know when. Take back. Awe in.
Do for. Eat there. Call to. Gather

my Dorothea. Trust always
her broken-signal stillness,
the broken paper bird, if it appears.

Notice the child. Awe. Know her
name: Dorothea. Take this name:
Dorothea. Take her name.

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