< Read >


August Poem

Mike Silverton

Gustav Fabergé is lost in thought with a half-dozen eggs,
“Weeping urchins hanging off eaves, smelling like something.”

Weeping urchins hanging off eaves, smelling like something

O my swan, how, absent handles, shall we proceed?
(How, too, absent directions?)
The boy stops at the door.
“Gentle door, open, O please do!
No no! I eat so little!”

And the sun, especially yellow that late afternoon,
fulfills a deathbed wish.

Asterisks, fungi, a hint of flailing snails
a voice whisp’ing “Pillage!”

Expressionless mammals standing in snow,
who speaks for them?

That would be me, also recalling unfortunate trysts.
One finds me on tenterhooks,
muttering a leave-taking including bagged edibles.

Creole malaise requires participation.

Sensing no further despondencies, I decommission
and decompose.

"August Poem" is one of nine poems by Mike Silverton (under the heading "Ten Acuities") in the print edition of Clam No. 11.

Mike Central Park 05.jpg

Mike Silverton