Three Poems by Mary Kasimor

thinking that for beethoven’s requiem

from the solid structure

from day to night

(thinking that)

I risked everything

as I slept

clearly obsessing

I missed the obvious

the memory 

lost in a jar of buttons

(and)

looked for the unattached

seeds

(and) birth

the road suffered

from ditches

babies in still moons

never moved our hours

fixing the machinery

that was an exciting time

for misunderstanding

denial because we threw away

lost reasons

the last self protects

a last minute

driving down a busy road

towards the calmness

of wheat fields

by the lawns with wild trees

for beethoven’s opening requiem

medusa repeats herself

she repaired what I wrought

repeating herself

repeating her hands

so many of them

the sun got more sarcastic

throwing itself around

you have the most grotesque selves

apart from many others

after becoming liquid

tongues i became all of them

i was ignored until the early morning

i wanted to wear red lipstick

i wanted to mouth my words

i wanted to have ideas with numbers

it controlled something--knowing the ideas

in long straight lines only getting longer

it was a hectic undertaking

among the red and orange balloons

counting flowers

perfect hybrids

i was a bumblebee cute as reality

i made the stars pressed into the ceiling

i took a bus to everywhere

it may have been in a desert with windy kisses

having felt the edges of touching i stood

in the other room the walls glorifying the pain

embolding consent among the monsters

in the tapestry where i was trapped

aching dirt

I made myself up

Because I was an orphan

Becoming even less

Becoming absolute emptiness

Filling despair the rivers return loss

Oceans balloon into broken horizons

Opening and closing the doors to prison

We are un-useable and unstable ovals

Immersed in no such greatness

I never forgot and I never remembered

Comfort was a reason

I walked away and left behind a fragrance

I was stuck in a small town

Carrying my sacrifice without excuses

Giving you my left foot

And my spine that left me crooked

Buried in the aching dirt

I also got to die

Mary Kasimor who has been writing poetry for many years, considers her work experimental. Her recent poetry collections are The Landfill Dancers (BlazeVox Books 2014), Saint Pink (Moria Books 2015), The Prometheus Collage (Locofo Press 2017), and Nature Store (Dancing Girl Press 2017). Her poetry has been published in many journals, including Word For/Word, Touch the Donkey, Posit, Human Repair Kit, Arteidolia (collaboration with Susan Lewis), and Otoliths.