Jean Vengua


seizure a state of infloration, flourishing fold
labyrinth in a cock hold an iron latch to keep

or a ladder, sighting birds, flock snowbound
pinning stars up in the bourgeoisie night

sometime in nightbound trees, a mystery chain
in spoken word land, a town called mystique

on rooftops sputtering, old rancors in the clocks
slice down, pursing dreamers, fletch braile

lift skirts, touch of nostalgia a sentimental
thigh. Breath caught in the dry branches

sewing, a thatch of hair and boroughs bay
on the empty porches, a lilac corner shifts

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