Ekleksographia #2: Poems by Diana Adams

Winter Sugar

Its voice on the other end uses an excess of obscura.
Ask the sportingly dressed coroner, is winter a terrible
or terrific slope of time? Antidotes—elision, secret
torte, white salt flowers in worn bowls, swan hymns,
virgin gin infused with the nervous quality of doves,
watermelon silk, sliced diamonds, hand-written
dishes, a mirador, sudden coition.

Why did you just put your jacket over your head?
Sturgeon swim our river at 35 below, eyes the color
of avocados. Upstream the tree-line elopes with music
extracted from forgotten cliffs. Daughters covered in mirth
hover mid- air. It irks to hear them pick at pastries.
Multi-foliate explosive, sugar cracks
carapaces of domestic spaces.

Train

I.
In each compartment, bones. Irregular
blunt, when reassembled there's odd
resemblances. Yes, that woman, femurs
carrying her scarved hips, secret
antique about her, birded brows.

II.
The engine is fire, needling
tree lines. On a bed inside blocks
of sound. Ripe play, if the evening
ends on Jello, so be it, perfect
confection escapes construction.

III.
A neat track is widening. Under stale
star oil today's wind is available for work.
As baritones whip up maidencane
a grouse sails. Dreams repeat, increase,
hold out a glass, make all connections.

Laundry Theory

Two ghosts correspond in pomegranate

streaked laundry, Moreover and Furthermore,

to argue the word pile—the new component.

A non-classical pattern, a leaving of the Euclidian

for a quantum dynamic: More. Piles of more

folded, damp petitions. A tidy and authoritative

model of acceptance of every possibility. Freedom,

frequency and self-imaginings. Periodic folds

of dream. Patterned pomegranate robes

awash in random electrons wave and particle,

branch universes, the body at home in its atom.