all around you and me, Livio Farallo

Michael Diehl, Waterfall

 

all around you and me

 

standing in the

                    eyes,

                    a

                    whole

naked

flock of

              artillery:

                             my

wrists

burn;

          my bones are

                            break-

able as

             night under the dead

             weight of fall-

             ing

             squirrels.

 

let me make sure i re-

                                  call

no

one’s

face: no lemur or loris or

         lutheran or prickly

pear.

         on

a wet

morning i am sure the drains

are full of soup, thin and

                             streaky and loud as

                                                           musical

                                                           boxes.

                             the bees

have denied

          participation in

the

      next war since

               they

will

be al-

ready

dead. i speak to them now

and they

                aren’t listening:

they

make

honey

now

               and

                aren’t lis-

                            tening.

they

 

        won’t buzz be-

                             hind

anyone after

                       rain and cologne and

won’t

           lie to themselves

           that

                   they

will.

 

         there are

                    scattered inkings

                    on the sky that

make

clouds only an after-

                                     thought and if

                                                     i

could

find

a

   woman eating

                             in silence

who

would

talk to me when she

                              had fin-

ished and

          i could

                      question her

                                 as

i

could twist a truth

which

we both

held, and then she could

                        simply

tell me to be

                  calm

when

i scream

and not to

               eat

               any

               birds that

                         flew: to instead

gather ants like

                            an

armadillo. but

 

she

has no lips and

                    little stones

                    for

teeth, and the

            crackling

of

her flesh is the crumbling

tan of the sun, and

                            i

                            won’t

                            close the

door after slipping inside

and i won’t care why

light

turns

to

water

          in a fog of dust

and

       i won’t mention the

                                   enemies

                                   all

                                   around

                                   us:

the breeze, the pressing

horizon, the beds without sleep, the

feathers falling like radiation,

inconsequential and

                              deadly.

____________
Livio Farallo

 

Review by Darren Demaree

“let me make sure I recall no one’s face” Farallo says in this cascading poem that searches that asks, that wants to stick like the honey the bees have made later on the poem. It’s really hard to write a poem with this much energy in it and use the disjointed form it’s in. Each line plays off the following line so well. The best part for me is the poem is relentless. Even as it rushes towards a conclusion there is no letup, no breaks, no willingness to give us refuge from the focus of the speaker. There is no compromise here, no bow to be tied, just the energy and the fight and the poetry.