The Circle None May Cross

The Circle None May Cross


1. The feet are stones,
2. gray and cracked with crystalline nails.
3. They taste of salt, smell of
salt, crumbly feeling, each step echoing
the sounds of bats hunting in a mine
(black and yet streaked white).
4. And yet, recall the cold-tasting arch,
5. revealing soft skin, soft nails, soft
6. stone. Once, I held a perfect
ankle in my palms, cupped warm against
7. the light (because it was hid, it was lost)
8. The smell of dawn,
the taste of cool air,
9. Joie de vivre eating through my nostrils;
it is the end. You've been lied to
all these days.
10. This is when you count thumbs
to remind yourself how high you've risen.
11. Tomorrow, you won't remember how,
even with shoes off,
12. helpful though that may be.
13. The stairs loom, the loom stares,
the hunters will learn the trick
of which hand to place on which wall,
tomorrow.

CL Bledsoe

Posted over on Ditch Poetry



Author lives in Maryland. He has published 2 collections: a chapbook entitled _____(want/need), and a full-length collection entitled Anthem from Cervena Barva Press. His work has appeared in 42 Opus, Barrow Street, Mud Luscious, and elsewhere. He is an editor for Ghoti Magazine http://www.ghotimag.com