All Nonfiction
- Bullying
- Books
- Academic
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Heroes
- Interviews
- Memoir
- Personal Experience
- Sports
- Travel & Culture
All Opinions
- Bullying
- Current Events / Politics
- Discrimination
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Environment
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
All Hot Topics
- Bullying
- Community Service
- Environment
- Health
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
- Back
Summer Guide
- Program Links
- Program Reviews
- Back
College Guide
- College Links
- College Reviews
- College Essays
- College Articles
- Back
Adagio
Play the adagio, then—
train eyes to mimic the dead certainty of dripping plaster ceilings,
with Crisco handprints and chalk-preserved mosquitoes,
fossilized by the radioactive half-lives of Chicago years and an old woman’s steady breath.
Florentine ingredients, soupcon-ravished theatre saturated with
watercress sandwiches,
thin whiteblonde hairs leak,
tantalite and fine as archaic thread from a lady’s elbow,
dandruff-ridden crustaceans pick scab holes
in a naval-washed sky,
shreds of gold-stripped light lean precariously from black-a-bed cloud temples.
Syphilis is praised in Sumerian conifer along pristine mosque walls,
tentative as a one-hundred-pound girl shifting careful weight along leaden windowsills,
something black and long and hungry,
grinding impenetrable navy-white feed like finely crushed blown glass from keyhole to keyhole, yellow washed children with hollowed, gaping palms…
Breath pristine and unstable as a fallen carnival, the whole caravansary had fallen in like a card house at the disapproval in her eyes, and at the touch of his lips the incarnation was complete.
Similar Articles
JOIN THE DISCUSSION
This article has 0 comments.