WINTER 2013 (Issue 77)
 

Kerry Banazek

Is It Sex to Say Seeing?

The Orion stars grey and city thin. As if forgotten. The traffic-steal, rumble and the bridge attendant too. All those stringy, flesh, wound, nebula arms we never see. The orange. Oil-on-water skin of almost. Wintered sky. Hopes, as if. Purple and moving.

                                                                                          If movement. Is it fresh graffiti smeared by bodies rolling. Is it if. As watching god-eye through a lid.

                                                                                                                                        Is it. To say seeing.
The night owl bus on the steel grate of the drawbridge overhead. Flicker light, yellow. As if precipitation. As if tongue. And claw-eye teeth. And old stone against your coldest back? Above black, water ship-cut and razor-wire deep, capped with waves. And valleys that suck up ambient and intentional, lights without warning.

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