Two Poems

Inquiry into Coil

[wpaudio url=”/audio/8_1/Evans2.mp3″ text=”listen to this poem” dl=”0″]

Enough of obsidian
and enough of fine linens
and figs, let’s thrash

down onto a maelstrom
of tusks, a madman’s
pinbone blanket.

We’re not woodmice,
so let’s roil around
properly like a den

of prairie vipers.
It’s too brilliant
for all this formality,

let’s clamor loud
enough for our echoes
to frighten the wilds.

[wpaudio url=”/audio/8_1/Evans1.mp3″ text=”listen to this poem” dl=”0″]

My sleeve isn’t full of trickery.
I don’t have a magic box to take you

away but return you unharmed.
I don’t have a key for the underwater

straightjacket and chains, and I hide
no impossible doves in my coat.

I don’t have visions or communion
with the beyond, but I’ll hollow

my body until it’s a crater, a posthole
for you to sink your tether into.

Or I’ll grow hair like a blackbear
cub if it’ll soften your sleep some.

Lay your head right here,
my lungs can be your creaking bed

or I can crack my bones and weave
a hammock from my tendons

for you to stretch between two
linden trees. Or I’ll eat wool

and down and rearrange my belly
into a nest for your kneecaps.

I can’t conjure. I don’t have any
sorcery to offer besides the will

to break this body into whatever
shape will keep you closest.