MODERN POET

I am not supposed to adore anything,
let alone extol your primrose camisole;
the café cremeof your midriff must stay
unpublished. I am supposed to sputter
like a terrorist’s fuse. Tusk the arctic air

like a narwhal. Immolate us. I am not
supposed to prize your plush omelets, your
slip’s cutwork, your slate opera hose
chafing my ears. I am not supposed to say
or scrawl my wealth, my poverty, our tears.

STEVEN DAGAMA

this artwork is by sandra russel clark
who did all of the photography in
issue 28, but this image
is from issue 40

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