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Eleni Sikelianos



Inside the Dome

What pleasure seeds we found inside the dome!
a cracked nut, a crystal home, a cold body, a squirrel’s domain

The memory house too airy & blown out to hold more

Tagged the memory & sent it off to scavenge: we need more rocks in this loving pile

We soon defoliated the feeling & sent it back;
it grew new shoots under the UV lights

We bound all the memories of mothers together in one bundle but
the white thread dissolved like sutures
the thread decayed & then we couldn’t tell
what belonged to whom, whom to what

I could see I’d never known this mother [person] [father] before

Where was the memory of my grandmother?

Howling in the hall.
Dark hell-hall.

She’s so angry, someone said.

Wouldn’t you be too if you were a lost memory?

She scratched the metal of her surface on me
It came off nickel, a corrosive reminiscence shedding atoms

All the mad seeds of memory seemed to fall near eternity
All the glad ones, too, bumping into the heart’s soft walls






Milk, Pebble, Pear

The shadow falls from the glass of milk like a ghost, another pools beneath the pear
A pebble hovers in the mind and the mind’s hand
(Everything belongs to the brain)
I shall hear a shift in the pear and the pear’s gear, a break in the time span
Like the tinkle of smashing glass
I moved to the other side of the room, & there a glass of milk
The same glass of milk; it was like waking up a second time
: Name three things in the room

the context is a table
it holds quite a few things up
let the body settle
this rock traveled to get here

when time breaks:
like a glass of milk with a crack
a milky trickle flows as if
a miniscule fissure at the volcano’s base, the volcano
at the back of a baby’s mouth

                                              of time
                                      milk /
                                              of time
                                                       flows /

                                              flaws out







Beehive the Mind


closed like blackened
flowers Howling mouth What have
you found Hallways
empty with air Abraham
Lincoln down with you in
the tall-short space of
the dead low-ceilinged
high-ceilinged dead Abraham’s
dead hat Did you carry
your dead life with you
little tiger limp sack in your
arms the form of your life All that
patterning and machinery the
ghost of your life in your dead
arms What did you learn out
there in the sands of the dead

I learned the old loving detail of the breath
That this crystal has tissue
This rock has flesh
How to dispel a storm with the first morning light
How to mirror the spot-
light Life-
lit like the G-
spot We don’t beehive human minds
to explode an atom
Everything here is
exploded atoms




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