2 POEMS
JAKE WEISS (AB’20)
A Portrait of Flannery Miller What she is Is not so much A tulip; rather,
Flannery would be an apple Dripping in bronze, My wiring
A fresh red conundrum Drumming To my breastbone.
Dissolved to pink Bubbling air. But I cannot Proceed. Seagulls breeze
Top hat reposed On her restless shoulder, Her figure realized
In the mind Of my wind, and Where am I, Flannery,
By the velvet dress, Her eyes sojourn here, Her mouth: A dimensional
Next to be whisked? Behind some new Artifical blockade
Wallop. Fair Flannery, Glued to each star flake In the burgeoning sky,
Made for bruised and bony Figments like myself And you? Hustle me along
What is your horizon, The one you see? Am I? I
To the next orchard, A pleading crescent Of pallid night. I am not
Am not allowed to wonder. Am fed Strict calculus Through a meat machine.
Allowed to wonder, to wander, to Walk in a line. You and I are Becoming a We, I feel, oh Fading,
I’ve already begun to love Flat Flannery when The fat man accosts me
Flippant Flannery, “a We, Oh Flannery, a We!—” Static jolts my jaw. How often
(Sir, step away From The painting)
I must be remanded, Reminded: I am not To wonder aloud.
And I would love To continue loving Her; To continue loving
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