You make the good mirror blue. The way you look at specifics without actually looking:
spidery vessels, pictographs of the world, human gestures & undulations.
I know – is not completely naked – a dazzling of war, as it was, the results of a tourist who invents god. & I go home devoid of His light.
I see the yellow-bellied grackle as a thorn in all hidden places, & it may be feeding the black for it is almost as tender as the fear of injury. To bleed-out this beet-scar—cicatrix. What’s ears before the voice screeches doubt that you are in my eyes?
Also known to conflict with the line of sight
Her belly, unencumbered by little hairs
& navel; a deep canyon of want── water-
less deluge romanticized the gape
/ twin helix
spring withdrew from us
all rejectamenta –
a damp ivy device
within the severity of
your mouth, no youth
& the fingers
a suspicious knot
seem to say
how do I get
Matina L. Stamatakis is a freelance photographer and writer currently residing in upstate New York. Some of her works have been featured in Free Verse, Word for/ Word, Moria, Drunken Boat, and others. She is the author of Metempsychose (Ypolita Press, 2009), and EoS (Oystercatcher Press, 2010).