Excerpt from O Bon

by Brandon Shimoda

                                   flags sink in water
                 bodies locked in equivocating shells
                               will never throw
                                             into work again
                                                             the wind, the wind

       saluting a hex of gangrenous sky

                 a temple of mounded dirt
              addresses the long-necked turn
                                   of a bloating storm everlasting care

    unwatched it might unfold

     a narrow sucker off a stone
entangled before defense there is
  a chance a battle surfaces—and you
                                                                                pressed to receive
                             a literal break                               refute
                     the sun I plunge my hands
                    in out I fit my arm
                       in hands in             every unengaged shore
                       plunging the opened body
                                     eloping
                           in fallout
                                          between tree between tree

       a visage
  nettling the slack
    foundation—may I beg shelter for the night
               misshapen where
       shall I alight
the valley hymns in the crust

                                                        gills over the ground
                                     ivory doves in blackened locks
                  fledging—will she
                    not arrive
                           rending—as
                        he does     she does
                                      not flaunt
                            who feeds the beets      into golden grenades
                        of what the work must joy

                    black accompaniment of antipathetic light
                                     the dead waste dead return

               in observance
       purple waves at dusk
                  all dusk continues to flow
                        I side with you
                                                     would have been proud as I speak

please     the beasts
  in ancient
  worship we eat worship

© Litmus Press. All rights reserved.