Sunday, February 28, 2016

Felino Soriano, from To Myself, You Listen


Hands of Adam Kadmon Before the Pick, 
image by Daniel Y. Harris



from To Myself, You Listen


Logic

Why you lament
     this mis
-ery is why you
   misspell your name
into the mouth
     pressing sin
 into the fork
-ing of your unblemished
   tongue.


Equivalents

Why the sea whispers
you wear the answer
in the slight rise of your
shadow.  Dust
does this: erases clarity:
another form: of whisper. 
Here, you recall the body
that left markings, a
living bruise, 1920’s blues.
You sing halos, —you
talk of prayer while
removing scratched faith
from your knees’
contagious swelling.


Eventual

Under your foot,
a bouquet of prior names. 

Rename them:

near-skin importance,
soft verbs remove violence

in the way your hand
ceases grasp

when death unpeels
the mirror’s final

articulation. 


Song to the Self

When young you
would bruise     to escape
the clarity of
comfortable skin.  Your
mother would
reject her tongue
to remove evidence
of questioning why.  This
did not disturb you:

your face provided
erased prose to     unfasten
meaning
of the escalated pain
drawing your
eyes the color of
evaporating crows.


Spiritual

You partition these voices traveling circles in your mouth.  Record them. 
Hold the one hallowed whisper nearest to your chest.  Breathe well.
The screams, you bury into flame. Believe in the father’s spectrum
of size.  When leaving he is largest.  Pain to augment the size of
your disappearing safety.  The city in you burns.  The bodies gray
into apparitional hours.  You watch to recognize past.  The silence
recognizes you.  The voices are perishing—the mouth tumbling
into mistaken company. 


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