Mary Kasimor

ix

because the wired
asylum
of my love
is
intellectual
because I bake small
cakes
made
of cardamom
the brain feels
the taste
a folk tale found
in
a dumpster
reveals her tongue
she sings
like
a teal soprano
The tongue absorbing
love
an after
longing
of
a lemon
purchased in
bleached darkness
 

xiii

there was this situation about power
the commodity was blood
trading veins hollowed
us out
eating the scabs

cut rate
the diamonds drew blood
dominating our punctured diameters

we sat in the snow
weakened as we leaked out
like bleach water

we were the bombs downgraded to gun power
we were the victims incinerating our bones

crawled out
of our orifices
leaked into the sea
fish bled sea water
an immense ending says we are blood
coagulating with nature

coagulating the blood of martyrs
in deep freeze sitting out in the snow
 

Mary Kasimor has work in Big Bridge, Glasgow Review of Books, Nerve Lantern, 3 AM, Touch the Donkey, Yew Journal, and Otoliths. Her recent poetry collections are The Landfill Dancers (BlazeVox Books 2014) and Saint Pink (Moria Books 2015).