Noah Balushi
Sed I Me
Proserpina, r r r r,
four noses to the House;
revolver, blouse, beautiful pearl of the bull;
Lycurgus ascetic to the rose,
what ribs are there?
Ennecated bricolage, ten tones to the tear,
Gambino, where are you going?
grant me, Amman,
horse-compatriot, rearing up to gut,
gag and hound the sentences quartering.
Yellow diaflected scrimshaw,
defalcating falcon’s wing, spin a misting
halo Budapest, blanket foisting
Anna pest;
just a moment to leer me—
Sideways and Agon crusting Kerguelen
cats and cabbage,
come here, a moment, please,
the breath it takes—
anthropy, sed I me.
The Little Ship
Loneliness falls out of the ship like a fish into the river gallops of the green shining horse.
Cloak us in world.
The world was.
Deafening, deepening to the dimness of the dam, the storing water heaving steady high up to wet the stone, a stone sinks collected by the ground.
The action follows carried by the grass of the plain gathered by the group, loneliness falls out to the river galloping as a horse.
It is a fish with the ashen breath, candles made to whale in light the songs they send, aquatic equilibria shuffle-storming the under waves.
Cloak us in earth.
The earth became and became of earth animals and vegetables after the minerals and atmospherics.
Was it a combination, an overlap, a sequence hit upon?
Your perfume seconds after you passed.
Cloak us in the stories of our lives.
The stories of our lives became and beehives drove their numbers high.
Noah Balushi is a writer currently living in Fayetteville, Arkansas. He works through his poetry using a variety of mechanisms which operate in a zone of confrontation between the ideal and imaginal. His works attempt to trace the ligaments of a never fully formed body, an alter-canon capable of partial enunciations and figures.