a heavy snowfall disappears into the sea
at Goshen Gore.
missed the ritual, the
terrible glistening yawn,
the vomiting cat,
the musical vowels of Babylon
north cut narrow with kabuki,
and gnostic games beyond my ken,
my yellow flag
in the Haussmann air
Esarhaddonic
the prow of my skull
against the rocks
and Baker Beach wax-cast in
song
Should I make it pristine for you?
jealous of the glass
that passes its lips
and slick with Albéniz
the heave of a
bodyless oar—
benim tanrım.
airdrop me anywhere
safe from electrical storm:
Lalibela. Shasta.
I’ve left a sacred mess.
“Don’t Know Why”
and a pile of woodchips.
Josh Lipson is a student of history, language, and the mind based in Virginia by way of New Jersey, Cambridge, Jerusalem, Istanbul, and San Francisco. His work has been featured in Obra/Artifact, Homonym Journal, Burning House Press, and Petrichor. His poem "Habana-Om" was recently nominated for Sundress Press' "Best of the Net Anthology."
Twitter: @Josh_Lipson
Facebook: lipson.josh