Body: mismanaged carapace
of was. You’d be better
as a constellation, ignoring light
years of interstellar bric-a-brac.
You could be Hammer Muted
by Shirt Sleeve or Sleep
Trip-Wired with Trumpets.
If I could remake you, I’d shape
the maker’s image. Adam’s
apple like a fistful of Tuesdays.
No more chin music. Once
new eyes adjusted, you’d see
only teal. A modernistic world
near-spun in blue, air and water
conjugate afterthoughts of Earth.
The trick: understanding vibrato
waking you nights when noise
and nights are anachronistic space.
Conjugating Opposites is reprinted from The Devil’s Garden (Alice James Books, 2003).
Poem, copyright © 2003 by Adrian Matejka
Appearing on From the Fishouse with permission
Audio file, copyright © 2005, From the Fishouse