red-wine, cigarette smoke vowels
tremble like foreign Saints
swallowed and slurred
that hang, palated
between teeth, on tongues
sailors float in from ocean lights,
dripping foot-steps through port cities.
‘Ciao, bello’ falls
behind the prostitute’s hips;
a bruised lily petal swept
quickly out of sight.
Hidden rats flutter between sails—
silent rib-cage promises
‘Can you speak English?’
Saint Martyr flames lick
whip-cracked air. consonant
threats subdue rebellion.
Motionless, a kestrel floats
caged between oceans.
a falling cigarette
surrenders in a Milan parking lot.
‘If you want me to,‘ she sighs
relaxing into lily flames.
I capture the blood of words.
rose-thorn.
I fill the Mediterranean
with coins.
Filed under: Cutter Streeby, Issue 3, Cutter Streeby
