Moses Visits the Fire Zone
His face a cavity as ground opens
(subtracting
the happiness problem)
his
darkness lit
by
smoldering flame
replays show in slow-motion
manna for
the YouTube generation
(blue
flame of screen)
the burn spreading
from low to
high
the mountains becoming soot
as all is consumed
* * * * * * *
watch the crows
circling
in smoke
waves
in
calligraphic patterns
above
the cauterized earth
even the market is collapsing
in touch for
once with reality
(it’s
always too soon to gamble on fire)
he keeps his gun in his pocket
walking between
the burning bushes
another
Moses in disguise
his
costume black as crow.
Jacob
and the Angel
(Inspired in part by Susan Howe’s “Hinge Picture”)
Angel confined stank clear rain flowers amidst coriander stuttering shades of peach and paprika
daughter sailing marshwards lake scented bleary and golden amidst the dredges and drudgery of horn and port of safari and canopy
tall purple-cloaked shouldering through forest lives a scarlet menstruation of insect ways beyond topology
hurled into silence of sickness and recovery the amusement of elevation a window facing falconry
fragments of memory of yellow sun of signals missed a fading sky the subtlety of disgrace
naked arcs of numb forgetfulness the skull beneath the mask the advice the reckoning the despair
sweet eagle cuts through hesitation dressed silken feathered crinoline engorgement such baroque perfidy
harbor superstition of filth and safety this sinful gradation this pinnacled descent
alter-slain and buzzard-fed beyond the picnic tables the desperate struggle ended.
Symmetry of Range
I have no obsession for the symmetry of objects not for
parallel
lines nor for
regular angles
waveforms carry elemental material the building blocks of essence the soft music of failure of division
perfection decaying into mildew and rot as the dry angles of geometry give way to the dampness of a circle
(I admit to my aberrations to my inconsistency)
the western side of the mountain trails tendrils of greenery into mossy debris into the bubbling liquid music of humidity
to the east the hot-bellied grunting of stuntedness
there is no fence that separates these sectors there is merely a backbone a ridge a scape of dirt left to bake within the thinness of the sun-bright air
we divide the landscape into zones taking advantage of a natural equilibrium
imagine the mountains as running parallel to the coast as lines that splinter off to lean themselves up against the same curve
beneath them waveforms of underground sound singing a collapse song
singing to themselves of the symmetry of range.
Paul Ilechko is the author of the chapbooks Bartok
in Winter (Flutter Press, 2018) and Graph of Life (Finishing Line
Press, 2018). His work has appeared in a variety of journals, including Manhattanville
Review, West Trade Review, Cathexis Northwest Press, Otoliths
and Pithead Chapel. He lives with his partner in Lambertville, NJ.