Sunday, February 14, 2016

Felino Soriano, from To Myself, You Listen

The Magus, image by Daniel Y. Harris 

from To Myself, You Listen

Transvaluing the self-image

Timid the
leaf     in you.  Hero,
the wind     from you.  An hour,
the crow     among you.

With praise you
hold in hand what

promises color and rotating
images, and like the praise

each eye gives to the understanding
of heat’s body     you

untangle these memories

an anniversary of practiced

—you visit what scares     scars     what

reminds through cicatrice and sedentary healing

—you space evenly your reaction to warmth,
how its body is both here and negative in appearance

is the spine and its youth, its strength     absconds
as does the father’s holding you

the strength crawling from the curved arm
through the fever of swollen finger
-tips     and you

preserve the song
long enough to swell

from the tongue’s variation
of pitch and unperfected lyric.

Version 1
No Name

Hear it.  This.  Remain when
the blend of you.  You spill
                                         the throat
throws you, an

of circumference          representing          age and the

philosophy of trauma.

The head hears you.  
This momentum

cannot praise.  You.
                                Beneath these blankets
two shadows braid
breathing patterns

fire to blame then
a sequence of spit

splays anatomies     and the creator confines as to scold as to teach as to

evict through faith’s
unlocked devotion toward          why you.  Never.

Home: from the Window Entering

Prose, this, glass of stained green


obfuscation of hybrids.  These syllables

wear you, skin

of hallucinating


          e: need yourself.  Collate:

                                     cure yourself.  Untie
what unites                   rearrange

to confuse

normality’s structural
hands, their holding you

mimics a fist of geese navigating to escape this cold and condescending

absence of food.  Unwind,


relocate, press your breath
into the sun
of this room’s
achromatic climate.