Michael Sareyani
What the Monster Said

“I will be here.
As your sister is dead.
As you fly alone or will not fly.
We are same caught by tide and land drawn sand,
will never see the sun in this place again.”,
the monster said.
Bits of atmosphere loosed their nets,
turned to bury the sun instead.

Katherine beat without a heart
and raised her head past his hand,
fingers thrust down through the clouds.
Breeches appeared in maelstrom grays,
striking blues parted day,
as her old appendages hovered over
the monster’s shoulder.

The sun merged ash,
shadows swung behind
playing among the pipe
of an illuminate.
They were quiet
and receded black,
the sand to glass
and rock worn flat.

The monster rotated regardless.
A wasted motion.
An unsure moment.
The last light shone through
the body, dimmed the self.
With light’s remains he paused
by her side of the vesper,
“You are an impressive pet. Who did you?”
One in a lifetime and mine’s so long,
a trillion times my love can lodge there in your throat
and still one never knows.”

But on she wondered,
“So must I let myself be led,
or be complicit to the debt,
but am already here, on glass I bed,
carry no heart, no guts, no grey,
no sweetness, milk, blood, sweat,
only the words the monster said.”

Kind Commands

Write someone.
Lay down the new body.
Touch untried limbs
gentle enough not to bruise,
but raise the bumps.

A face is not its pieces,
a home, not the characters.
It's a waltz of laughter,
an our and not a mine,
and pain is better shed
in shares of words bedside.

What would a saying be
without its point
or caring without the carrying.
The fatigued must sleep so
soar on back,
plunge to easy rest,
be safe beside.

Give up owned warmth
to the deserving of.
Find the street a home.
Bring about a real entwining and
coil around a bit too long.

Light is a dull tool.
Better look by touch.
The black tones gain in licks,
the whites by breaths
that dowse a curve,
roll and peek coyly.
Understand.

<< Back to Issue 15, 2012