← v10n1, Spring 2011
Poetry · Volume 10, Number 1

Paradise

Paradise is not

a garden.

It is prior, and raw:

a tendril blizzard, a blizzard

of sand fleas,

                       the Cyclops sun

dilated; the whole sky

jaundiced

and trumpeting.

A glittering silence

that would suspend the heart

in formaldehyde.