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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