Litkicks Message Board Archive

Teacher of the Moth

Posted to Poetry

We deny ourselves softness.

Gods ignore the world.

There's some difficulty,
Like the beating of a drum.

Effort's minus.

Tender shape.


(Baby birds. Listen,

Is my life a testament
To the sight of flight?

The cresting ruse of question
Is the mundane game of
Interested boredom, plainly

What is gained is song. Complicated

To belong to silence.

(Is my life a testament

To the sight of flight?)


My second portrait without you.
A brush with one hair makes a fine line.

Eyes like caramel in the sunshine.

Mind like grey-faced wings. Heart

Likes a hot bulb. Body

Like a meal for a sparrow, oh

So sweet and narrow.