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Tuesday, April 3, 2018

Alpenglow by Natalie Eilbert



I am a sorry excuse for an animal. I move when I am hungry
inside a screen. I am weak and loved and will not survive. I
tire of the I but never want you to forget me. I begin every
sentence a stent in my throat. I pressed my hands to a pumice
rock in the Kasha-Katuwe and made a wish and because yes
in this crease of thought pleasured a bullet through the brain

of a redacted figure, I conducted dark magic to ruin the brain
that keeps us to keep us. I watched a gray bird perch hungry,
I watched a gray bird with a single peach wing feed another yes
gray bird with a single peach wing. I sang along to the radio, I
sang Stix and Poison and Sum-41, these phantasms a pumice
in the throat, the lyrics curled dumbly in my brain. With every

good intention I breathed when my hands were pressed, every
breath delivered in the Kasha-Katuwe I considered the brain
an index of sonnets, madness untapped like a tuff in pumice,
a sculpture that begins in clay and ends bronzed, hungry
to expel its design. I expel a supervolcano from me, and I
close my eyes to the ash-coated jawbone of an elk, yes,

blasted from an elk, caldera disturbed from crude drilling, yes
the reports that might blink momentarily that because every
drill spent mining for oil caused early signs of eruption, I
knew, from a disturbed volatile crust. I sing manana, brain
craving the search for a five-star brunch spot, so damn hungry
to find exactly what I’m looking for. My beautiful day in pumice

and ash and tuff, my beautiful perfect day laid out in pumice
and a healthy sweat when I pressed my hands across it yes
to offer a wish and conduct my dark magic, I was so damn hungry
to get exactly what I wished for. The phones would chirp, every
phone would tell of the early signs of apocalypse, and the brain
would go into flight or fight, exhaust the body sure to die

I pressed my hands to the pumice convinced I could save us, I
am a sorry excuse for an animal. I move with vigor along pumice
grasping for the striations that hurt the rock into beauty, brain
the worship into blood thumping in the ears, my heart racing yes
like I am fleeing the supervolcano to no avail, my god my every
bird and deer and elk and cactus singing into eternal hunger.

What I hungered to tell you this whole time, it’s that I
crossed the ever border into New Mexico, I saw pumice
and a herd yes of elk facing sunset. My splendor could kill a man.

1 comment:

Radish King said...

I love the way this poem propels itself forward almost a hymn. Thank you.
Rebecca