A. R. Zarif
Karen
Cara cara navels, sky capsule, silk along cartons
& I’m all ankle braces and floss. My torture
of lamp-lit pieces—a winter of barbershop couches
orienting toward sugar, why not?
Karen,
someone hands me a chunk of ice & someone
else takes it away;
like a pillow for each of our teeth,
whatever’s worse:
wanting nothing, (having) nothing, wanting
nothing and getting it,
not getting,
not wanting nothing and getting it,
turning from nothing toward what you haven’t asked for.
Or wanting what you haven’t gotten only after
wanting what you’ve gotten only after you’ve learned to stop asking,
wanting what you haven’t turned from yet; the announcement
is I’ve bought myself some bells.
we’ll guard our toys
for the rest of our life like a
cat against the glass. We would lurk
like mirrors in a ruined house and
avoid butter. We’d be as jeweled as
leafcutter ants inflicting their hum
on the leaves