LM Brimmer

unmoonlightenment

One can see how color is particularly hard to manage in a personal way - June Jordan

i

Again, I said, Go on, Tell me how you found me on blue moon river the rock, my body pulled from the glistening, leaning against your phantomed honeyed legs and knobby knees.

Between the edges: the ball in the nook of the red red lake.

What a blood moon & wished for balloon: your short sleeves and the smallest hand coaxing nobility: my boy, shaking me open.

ii

Again, it came, from inside my hollowed face:

Carribean rum still my fluttered step.

Once you walked in on me. Using the speaker as a pillow & oh, my cries;

my terrible yawping: brown butter melting in a summer of heat.

iii

For you I tried to be the child & the mother, too; some combined monster-creature.

The colors bled as I had expected: a loneliness: on parting.

The way cecilia cried at night when tomás left her for another country or woman or distance.

Fled rock. Fled moon. Fled feeling.

iv

Loneliness, a moonlit night in a colorless town, where you, alone in the flash-lit doorway, the breaking of the light in the doorway & it striking

against your bare chest, colorless.

Tell me What or Who do I hear? Is it your promise to disappear?

Knowing your faint beam & my dry gullet throat, don’t touch the worry stone.

Leaving: a loneliness. The late train through a backwater trains won’t run.