CITRINE ASH #1


Even if it was from the foam of hallucination,
it was unhealed horror. My distance
& distorted vision handled the long park well.
I stared at sober daisies
as bicycles smashed against sunlight, disappearing
into a choir of oak trees. Sudden mortality.
I tasted an orange & rubbed my cotton clothes.
What will I do during this part of the season,
be calm & claim it doctorless?
Warm quartz wind will become smoke,
& someone might meet me in the ghostís garden
where the heart doesnít expire.
Iíll bring a thick blizzard of intrusive thoughts.
Noise & then more noise.
Nowhere near sound, & closer to fully jaded music.
I donít need so many night-wires across sleep.
I woke again to the steam of living,
seeing clearly in the dark. A violent impulse of nature
& vague strands of forgiveness.
This is the kind of day when vowels haunt me.
I donít recognize the space of my choice.
Sweetness, come & drizzle down an idle history.
In the unraveling dream, I donít know where
I placed my glasses, or dropped the dragonís egg.


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Terrell Jamal Terryís poems have appeared or are forthcoming in The Volta, West Branch, Whiskey Island, Alice Blue, Washington Square Review, Columbia Poetry Review, Vinyl Poetry, and elsewhere.