GVSU Fall Arts – Poetry

Nocturne with the general at his study.
Deer have nibbled the leaves of the eggplants causing a fury among the
servants who scribble about like herd animals crossing a frozen lake. The false
calm of the general is a premonition, his gold-plated revolver, the silence at the
end of a parenthesis. In the kitchen a live bass slaps its tail in a slowly,
widening Allegro. Large mirrors in the study gather in the growing unease. The
general coughs, the head chef holds a cleaver to the throat of the prettiest
servant. Cream has separated into two layers, and the stars have long been
overhead. Meanwhile the dead sleep in the deep furrow at the edge of the city with
the understanding of Knights temperament. Still there is no protest, the fish will
be steamed and the pretty servant will wear a slight scar above her clavicle.
There will be no murders tonight and the kitchen will gleam respectably out of
danger. In the morning the general will command his servants to build a fence
and urinate around the perimeter of the garden. Such is the nature of easy
resolutions, such is the inscrutability of power. This is a
a section from that poem, it’s an allergy called the speed of belief. Probably he
spun out of himself and landed squarely in that there. His new body capable, lean
vibrating at the speed of belief. She was probably waiting in the light
everyone describes gesturing for him to come. Surely they spent the whole first
day together, walking past the city and out into the orchards, where perfect figs
and plums ripen without fear. They told us not to go tipping tables looking for
them, not even to visit their bodies in the ground. They are sometimes maybe what
calls out to people stuck in some impossible Hell. The ones who later
recall, I heard a voice saying go and finally as if by magic I was able simply
to go.

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