Tuesday 10 May 2022

Four Poems by Steven Fortune


 

LUBRICATION OF THE LAST RESORT 

 

A night harping on 

a crutch of infallible 

inactivity 

bestows the drama 

of a chess check upon 

the inflamed tea light's 

expedition 

 

Like a sour Cretan king 

feeding a naive demographic 

to his untrained dog 

I exile them 

to an enclosure 

for the desperation of 

their purpose 

to illuminate the fringes 

of attainment 

defined solely in 

the classified drivel of 

one's own rationale 

 

I anoint them with 

a dollar-store destiny 

amounting to romanticism 

on the highways of winds 

and orbits 

circulating their incensing 

essence spawned upon 

the bowl of embryonic 

bubbles 

 

Smoky apparitions 

of ginger glorify 

my barren nostrils 

and for the first 

time in days 

words are written 

in the presence 

of my flat and restless couch 


 

FAMINE FROM HERE 

 

Minutes on your watch are manifested 

morsels of a raving distance you dole out 

to the malnourished mania that sprays 

shadows on the walls of my untapped itches 

clawed fictitiously with smiling fingers of denial 

as my appetite dog-paddles in a puddle  

of your sirenous Pavlovian whims 

Your body the mischievous bell laminating 

lessons of a desiccant lust with the  

ringy-ding-dings of your radiant  

reverie of lip-polished teeth  


 

DOSAGE 

I. 

Flippant tongue of fluent paranoia 

how I wish you'd take this evening's pill 

like a discarded thread from Atropo's basket 

and blanket it beneath you where 

the uvular conspiracies await 

to crumble its assumption of effects 

holding me at bay yet making me no better 

 

II. 

Altruistic niceties of diplomat contrition 

I spit out with no remorse 

wasting no articulation on 

canonical phenomena 

My affiliation to an occupied mouth 

renders satisfied majorities stencils 

of accessibility 

Occupation tables an articulated option 

yet I insist on muted fervency as my 

one opportunity at self-control 

Imagination is for mouths of frozen 

not reflective tongues 

 

III. 

Vocal chords are landmines 

in my throat's inveterate savannah 

With sour-powdered pills of clockwork 

dictatorship courting my indifferent stomach 

independence skewers me 

to the puzzled possibility 

that I'm in league with everybody else 

in extroverted throes of effortless communication 

My tongue's infatuation with my stomach 

tells me otherwise 


 

PRE-SUN 

 

Before the morning shooed existence 

out of its bed 

I caught the sky and sea 

trying on each other’s' night clothes 

It was like Daddy 

seeing his wife kiss Santa Claus 


 


Steven Fortune is a resident of Sydney, Nova Scotia (Canada) and a graduate of Acadia University (English Literature/History).  He has released five poetry collections to date, edited several works by others for his publisher, and has also appeared on CBC Radio, while his work has been featured and read on several radio programs.  He also aspires to write for the stage and recently completed his first one-act play. 



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