National Poetry Month #4
Larissa Szporluk is always almost too-much, but then not quite, not quite. Teetering on the edge and that sensation is what makes it. And she always, always has a line or two buried somewhere that is stark and straightforward, and it's the key and the slammer to the whole thing. If anything that contrast makes it even more of a gut punch. Pretty great, but it takes time.
(She's also lovely in person. Got to hear her read in Pittsburgh...along with Alice Notley and Immanuel Wallerstein and and and. Sigh.)
Dark Eros
Larissa Szporluk
She smirks, sets herself up
on a cinder cone--How does
it feel, she asks the old mountain,
to have no choice but to feel?
Succuss of Anoton's glottis.
Rumbles, plutonic debris.
Feel this, she hisses into his
sphincter, then does something
evil with fruit--oh, the power
to cry! Oh, to be able to cry!
His mouth is under the sea now.
The past is a quasi-fetish.
I was only a child, but my
obsession with you was divine.
(She's also lovely in person. Got to hear her read in Pittsburgh...along with Alice Notley and Immanuel Wallerstein and and and. Sigh.)
Dark Eros
Larissa Szporluk
She smirks, sets herself up
on a cinder cone--How does
it feel, she asks the old mountain,
to have no choice but to feel?
Succuss of Anoton's glottis.
Rumbles, plutonic debris.
Feel this, she hisses into his
sphincter, then does something
evil with fruit--oh, the power
to cry! Oh, to be able to cry!
His mouth is under the sea now.
The past is a quasi-fetish.
I was only a child, but my
obsession with you was divine.