6.05 / May 2011

Five Poems

what one eats is destroyed and no

longer real – a grievous error
on earth but in heaven one
consumes & is consumed by god
{muscularly not our}

god & god’s
will to seize us

{Ecclesia 1}

my dove in the cleft of the rock

my hiding place my city
the beginning of my face, your face
is the beginning
of recall & grace

is a grove

of almond trees blooming is books
there are many & their endings like bodies
are wearisome
you say better a day of naissance
than the insatiable stimming of eyes

when I applied my madness
of erasure
{windthrows woman throws}
no one was long remembered

I am a fool
or wise & this too is semantics

god lays such burden on us-eternity

in our hearts inconceivable our skins
to fathom the doings & daily

here is reverence: belief in all things
possibled & dying

better are mouthfuls
of tranquility than wingfuls
of toil & wind & cords
restlessly snapping

this all comes without meaning
the way you depart in darkness
& in darkness your name
is shrouded

better what the eye
sees when the almond tree blooms
when the skin drags itself
along & desire is no longer stirred

death determination
_________ = ______________

nothingness life


{Ecclesia 2}

my dove is a cleft of rocks hiding

in cities in places beginning
with faces begging for cognizance
& grace
groves of almond trees

bloom & books bloom & there
there are many endings of bodies
{wearisome bodies}

beating a day of dying
I’m stimming
death is insatiable

like an eye half-applied
for madness half for erasure
& wind throws & we throw & no

syntax is long remembered

such a burden on eternity living with god

in our hearts our unconcealed skins
feature the daily doings

it’s possible reverence is nothing
but a belief in dying
in all things a toll

a dovetail of toil a fistful of wind
the cords of tranquility spurring

a way without meaning departs in darkness
dark shrouded a name for dark eyes betters

the almond eye blossoms & trees drag
their desires to the sad bins of rot


cast your bread upon water

cast your returns
upon the weary
the dead
perfume of flies

is an error spelling her dark names
in dark books & light books

& relenting
her cavernous rest

{three angels canting}

1. we wait for god and god’s will waits to seize us

2. god my brute necessity
is perfectly

3. if

god wants me god will

find me

Aby Kaupang is the author of absence is such a transparent house (Tebot Bach, 2011) and Scenic Fences | Houses Innumerable (Scantily Clad Press, 2009). Her poems have appeared in VOLT, Verse, Denver Quarterly, The Laurel Review, Parthenon West, Aufgabe, 14 Hills, Interim, Caketrain, lo-ball and others. She received her MFA in Creative Writing and is now slogging through her MS in Occupational Therapy. View more work at abykaupang.com
6.05 / May 2011