Poems by Anne Elias
Indifferent this fire in the air,
a moth, a spider…
It is round, it is this that approximates
relationships, undulating hostility.
In the place where the pages are parted,
suspended the laundry is hung, the time
sorted through, red brick to cinder.
Colors accumulate on the backs pressed in
isolation, embossed with uncertain lines.
In the hiss of heated air, pollen and
Insects rise with the movement of a
It’s all beyond life size.
After all these years to take to drowning
in bed, sweet sewery dreams, television
The fingers lock up, in unwanted positions,
need to be willed, awaiting with terror,
little bits of cardboard, pieces of
something with color, pulled towards an
element, where and when it doesn’t happen,
ultimately doesn’t happen.
Surrogate travel, simulating movement
through space, across the board.
Radio news coming thru the walls
Beach house light and bed spreads
The wind in the sugar cane hovering
dark dragon flies, speckled bird fields,
In black and dirt, in black and dirt.
It becomes evident, wet close to the
sound of the gravel, ink on the skin,
black and suspect water on metal.
Iron on the tongue
It becomes evident, in siphoning the
sound for the need, its there in the
palm against the creases forming
catching anything in air.
Skin blistering, little chick
marshmallows, covered in yellow sugar,
little yellow marshmallow peeps.
Brings the mail up, the one flight
It yellows and falls to the floor
There’s rattling and buzzing I don’t