everything on the cellular level as if sentient, the potatoes growing eyes in the dark
under the sink. The way Lysimachus, for whom the invasive is named, walked and walked
through the terrible burning, the emotion openly disfiguring his face the way a lover
will sometimes turn directly toward the beloved in that other language, the thing
shuddering under the skin until it floats up into the light with all the colors of ephemera
and bursts. There was a maze. There was a photograph of the night sky taken over several
hours, the stars like scratches on a record. As far as I know there is no unified theory as to why
it exists except the theory of the animal, the theory of glands and secretions. It comes
when it comes and if fortunate it comes without end. The lesser vertebrates rub
themselves in its musk, coat themselves in its glory. It ruined me and I let it. Hands held abovemy head as if under arrest.
Gulf Coast Summer / Fall 2013
Summer / Fall 2013
Copyright © 2013 by Quan Barry
All rights reserved.
Reproduced by Poetry Daily with permission