JOSH FOMON


 
 
LEONARDO’S HORSE

I put a hole in your face
you yearn to feel a void.

I put a hole in your belly what you see
needs to come out somewhere.

It’s cold in this room your legs
are exposed lacquer in hardened wax.

Listen to the owl tear off its wing
it echoes like a whistle

off the painting of your face.
The wallpaper drips like a horse

made of butter.  Leonardo sculpted
my heart in the gloam

of the noon window you
want a heartspace.  Feel my fingers

puncture a hole in your ribcage
I want to make you hurt

feel how much of myself
transposed in.  You are a moth.

You want a heart
I’ll give you eyes.
 
 
 
 
VOID

I am the space encased around the alluvial
hinge your jaw is slender
as buttons hold the fabric
together.  In case I mispronounce your arrival
I am a scaled fish.

The body fingers around my mouth
feel the torpor of my mouth.
See how it truckles into its lips.  My lips
malign when you speak
you want to eat these lips.
You have traveled

across the sunsetting.  I watch your body file
slick maneuvers you are space
between crows.  The air a buxom shirt
occupied with cow tongue.  Wet the lips
let the fat trickle.

The room shakes
umbrellas and dramatic slants toward
the lip of egress.  Mouths barren and full
of bones.  We spend our goodbyes gnawing
ribs my mouth a socket.  You are the space of your lungs.

The vessels flap your heart
is a wing.  Clasp your teeth
around the sky.  Eat the flesh
the solarium my throat.  The fissures close
around the echo of the voicespace.
Disembody the face gate the waves
echo.  You are telemetry and its lost

parts tongue the receptor.
I am the receptor.
What we lose is here
lose your action.  Splinter the blood is bone
sticking out.  Ford me into your body.  Yourself and your

mouth is static.  Reaction and solder the lips
all lead.   Under the space your lips
you are a motion fit and malleable.
The study of everything.  A river.
 
 
 
 
 



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