November 2012
Poetry
Slipping Through The Noose
by Camonghne Felix
The body is blue jay
with Phoenix heart/
The body has lit into itself
with big, arching flame/
The body branches forward
to suspend itself/
The body is in constant/ conversation
with gravity/
If it were not an
instrument of/ shadow,
if it did not spell
under the/ bulb,
if it did not burn
so expertly/ who would
claim it?
What I have learned of survival:
You were spoken
here
by the divine gift giver,
in the back
of a chilled warehouse/ her
brow, a heavy silk spun by some/
foreign ocean/
You were her most/
meticulous creation, her/
bounty stowed in a/ carryon,
her mouth sewn shut/
A night traveler, with your/ blueprint
pressed to her stomach/
Every song is yours to sing.