by Ece Apaydin
1.
A clarinet played longish in the cornea.
I made the patient’s bed.
Now fine. Wolf can come down for dinner with its dances
Polska stones pours as she walks
I shrink. I am a carmine
pacemaker. I got the color
of her jacket. the color of her shirt.
Make the bed of the bison.
Make the bed of the bison.
2.
I ran with two broken dices in my palm
in a simplicity of a ceremonial ground. without a firing squad
by turning into a blueness
what an enormous thing is this dying!
I love this dilution. opening gateways
from my own heat
from my own sorrow
greeting in the tunnels with me
the beads of my blood. What a plenty they are!
For half a century I string them
at the cost of living.
3.
How he took me into his palm
just like Tom Thumbs and went
leaving me secrettop - to Georg fineness
of thoughtfulness
I was the affiliation to him
of the cables that keeps turning around
I was the hug to him
of the arms that keeps turning around.
I was a woman carrying a wreath in the hallway
by turning into a dowdy greenery.
4.
Death is a laboratory in each cell of a house
bakes its swelling bread, with the milk coming from occurrence
My grave that is surging in the mating room named Odeon
with the red lighter of the light
will look at Georg
will look at desks that are under the rain
and will eat whole products of the art!
5.
Make the bed of the bison
Make the bed of the bison.
ECE APAYDIN
Last updated June 12, 2016