“Iced” by Kalliope Amorphous

Iced

Self Portrait

there is a space between the dream
where emptiness is sewn;
cold fossils drawn up by a seam
connecting earth and bone.

a ghost taps poems upon a rock
to bake their valleys in the heat
small veins of milk, packed thick with chalk
casting white shadows on a sheet.

he mocks me by his flight
time is heavy; flesh is rock
blood is a lock built in the night
and set inside a clock.

from sanguine chambers banished,
a wrist draws a line of impasse
on the map of its own hand.

like this a life will languish:
a ghost inside an hourglass
suckling the bones of sand.

-Kalliope Amorphous

www.kalliopeamorphous.com

© 2011

“Chambers” by Kalliope Amorphous

the smell of money fills our lungs
our fields are filled with blood
dripping chambers for death knell
the infidel swings from the gallows
erected on our heavy tongues
here, we exile all angels to hell

i have made an aerie for the bodies of the damned
between my skull and womb
nestled in muscle and pulse
the lock is glued
the door is jammed
do not enter this tomb
or heaven will convulse.

Photo & Poem by Kalliope Amorphous

All Rights Reserved

© 2010

“Raven And Ghost” by Kalliope Amorphous

Kalliope Amorphous

Self Portrait

i recall her eyes as dark and anxious constrictions
her gaze conceived in the throat of a wolf
in the moment before muscle
pushed the howling through

her smile danced with the beautiful torment of my own memories
as she brought mirrors and pressed them to my icy tomb
where i could see, in quick flashes beneath cold fog
my child lips making wishes on the corpses of dandelions

hoping as their flower white ghosts floated skyward
that they would send my child lamentations to their gods
but the gravity of uncertainty drew me to my knees
where i envisioned the world a vulturous void
for which my body was a falling through

she gripped my hand and took it into her mouth
where i felt the fluttering paper
of birds wings pretending to be words
her mouth closed softly around my trembling hand
my fingers swam eagerly in the wet void of her prophecy

from her wordless tongue there came a sound
like the tolling of a distant bell
meant only to be heard by the corpse and the fetus
in the moment before their lungs are overwhelmed

here my fettered uncertainty has languished
like a prisoner horrified at his open cage
who mistakes the caress of a ravens wing
for the dragging tease of a whip
across the cheek of an infidel

now blistering like wounds drawn by fire
i arise raw and burned to my blood
pink and throbbing like the throat of a lion
love has rendered me a monster in this holy fane
where men make gods from the blood of the mire

Kalliope Amorphous

All Rights Reserved

© 2009