Poetry
by Alek Lindus
6th day at sea
Ikarus grazed by the swing of Apollo’s
arm,
strong bead on a brow of light,
joined to the fiasco of eternity’s
slipshod motions,
grabbed His face between
scorched fingers
and
kissed Apollo full on his lips
The Gymnasium
The book weeps shedding pages like
consolations. Touch the crocodiles
camouflaged in half lit trees on the
street. And a dream always warns of
its
reckoning, a pounding head the toxic
waste of severed questions and decapitated
answers.
When the echoes of sailor’s departed
laments are brought back, on the beaks
of
black swans, to the sleeping port of
Marseille; then the whores in their
pale
spread flesh; reply that there is no
love
without money (that love is a seldom
juggled myth in a room full of
Fragonards).
In the gymnasium they pumped dreams
until a republic collapsed.
