← v14n1, Spring 2015
Poetry · Volume 14, Number 1

Agca

Farrar, Straus. I opened a henhouse.

Bojan took the network to new heights

then cracked his skull

on the rocks. Farrar, Straus. A fence around

handsome men. The elbows are greasy,

but these are the elbows of stalactites.

A silver curse floats, we are in a winch.

Fig leaves are an overgrown bee.

Do you get them from bronze? Are you tossing them

into the sea? Wilderness grooms the fat

of boats. Every spring, every spring,

every spring. How were you bound

so that you did not rip off the propeller?

A secret of the fifth Fatima. Again

the bowing of the Pope’s head over a Turk.

I wonder who sent you,

tell me something else. A hoof

shakes three numbers, releases two?