← v14n1, Spring 2015Poetry · 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?
