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By S.G. Mallet
The Sixth Day of the Lunar Calendar
The twin crows of heat and soul
ship off, put a hand to the stone
and feel equal pressure returned.
Fig seeds inside the poem begin
to take shape out for a walk, intuit
the shock of which wine flute glass
Smatters over what linoleum heart,
menthol-blonde, the chin’s tenacity
betraying what heart’s silent-n in
kiln. But a soul? I’d sooner poison
your drink. I find that I can hardly
define organs within systems.
Aspens shivering through light
wind, the coins of light thrown —
heat is what we make of it.
Flat Circle as Primary Hierarchy
The apricot blossoms —
I’m taken with the way
the cardinal points.
Extant Branches of the Library of Alexandria
Found Beneath Your Hometown
Neither swept through by sea
air, nor the waves waves cause —
it’s not like the aorta sorts
each necklace necks grace.
Horror revolves fourfold:
not the smith; the armorer.
Inverted nun, we have conditioned
air, all chess games are first iterations
variegated syntaxes, what joy(s)
hope(s) for, let’s say variegated.
Plank Length
Charbagh from the loops
of any acorn, evening through
desert glass, all possible
worlds flown at mascle-half-mast.
I was cosmogony:
if russet(s) sprout(s)
new limbs in the dark.
-S.G. Mallet
About The Author:
S. G. Mallett was born in MD and lives in QC.
He is the author of Disparate Logoi (ABP) and Markov Chainmail (forthcoming from Cactus Press).
He holds philosophy from Concordia University, manuscripts for Atticus Review, and poetry for Sepia Quarterly.
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