an eros
un-sun-kissed, unkissed,
I mean idle and torrid
a not-beach babe
in windowless rooms
around which satellites
catch & spasm,
amplify & detect
something prevents me
from co-creating these
enjoy-ful duties of
worship (of which
the longing that passed
& passes needless,
is quick – like glass
on a table, futile
in its placing)
grainy & frequence-d
before new content
is sent sent sent
(here’s the last of a
bodystocking sequence
a silhouette of un-
fitted, ill-met[t]ed,
wound-to barbed wire
coloredpink cross-hatched)
I have a sense I lost,
but I’m nonetheless welcome
what flower are you?
I was asked
What flower are you?
cloister
A new tic-like habit
Of searching for flits
To places not here
For departures to fit
The few somethingless
Days we have left
Wintering in the
Last few days of what’s
Called a year,
Pausing in the fear of
The backlog of things
Here’s a photo of me
As non-nun
Waiting to be bit
Don’t I look great?
What does un-horsed mean?
Is it a code-icon for us?
Should I use it?
Ah, to raze, to ruin, to oust
Read this actual message
About system dormancy
Stupor, erasure. Yes, I hear you:
(saying)
I fell ill on the event
of your departure
Are you “inviting rest
And living with presence?”
Are you grossly
In the tropic of Capricorn
Ashore and swelling?
How do you winter?
What else can cold-snap
Small-deaths invite
But an inked-out
Assumption as to
How you winter
—
Jane Lewty is the author of two full-length poetry collections, In One Form to Find Another (CUP Poetry Center, 2017) and Bravura Cool (1913 Press, 2013), and a chapbook, Pretty Things (The Magnificent Field, 2020). She teaches art history and creative writing in Baltimore.