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    Bare Branches

    at the festival all men fill my eyes over you
    with your dog named Lady
    moving not passing, nail down anything I say
    feet square in a v-gutter
    then a minute left with you.
    when the moon wears the sky’s blue
    nothing would be purposefully
    brought to excess; each rational,
    unsure what to do next
    except reappear from this life-filled place,
    keep broken good news about you
    and no bad news from you. angels
    fly into the mistake. splayed, your heels
    blue in your canceling arms,
    teaching children to say instead
    ‘oh wow’ or ‘oh my goodness’
    or coming with a sock of soap.
    how can I confuse soul with soul of my soul,
    coke bottle colored or tinted by wearing GAN
    the summer day so true you hand time you
    it’s gotten so I can deal but not take
    a cosmos of autumn, plant sentience
    or approximate a form
    washed out in surface, you
    didn’t try to call me. has life really been like that?
    or in Greek Orthodox churches, the non-naturalistic
      doesn’t refract a sovereign light, but
    surely the peace one deserves means
    you can’t ask everything.
    the object reassembles its disappointing pull
    from the general rectification.
    as with my brother’s rangefinder,
    you used to be Mike, now Mike is something
    I turn toward you, how he is judgmental
    never feeling a thing without complaint,
    like a theater under the veil of reality—
    leery of absolution
    Lady refracted kindness from inner dialogue.
    when his life is finally repaired
    tile and antler
    for the long 1990’s and a warm Winter of its
      specular reflection here, just
    a Yule under the bridge an abandoned fir
    caves of red green and blue stars
    where goodbyes bring you unremitting
      torture, or more than I feel,
    just short of reducing the incentive to work
    to the next shelter of your intuition
    crystal face fallen from serious swan
    over and over
    and brght crcles of lght on scaffoldng
    and self-llumned days
    black holes

     

    Tenaya Nasser-Frederick is the author of three chapbooks: Penumbra Highway (Gas Meter, 2018), Lavender Cats (1080PRESS, 2020), and, with Mohammed Zenia, Black Bedouin (1080PRESS, 2024). Work has appeared in Castle Grayskull, EBB, The Brooklyn Review, The Brooklyn Rail, Full-Stop, on The Antifada Podcast, and on Montez Press Radio.

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