Anthony Thomas Lombardi
the sun is a natural thespian
has presence, inspires
prayer, commands
maybe more
than its fair share
of the stage
all elbows.
we gape, wince
celebrate when the moon
blots it out like a black eye.
look closer
it's only a desperate star
disheveled
like it just sauntered off
a belle & sebastian album cover.
i'm told Love can take you
to another planet
sometimes it leaves you there.
before she learned the most
dramatic use
of the front door
my beloved taught me how
to slice a mango
a fruit she can't go home
& eat in Cairo, the knife
blushing
from her touch, her hands
nimble, innate
as if she were dismantling
the rainbowed
bowels of a bomb.
i still peel the skin with my fingers
sink teeth into flesh
that clings
like sneakers dangling
above the street.
my neighbor keeps a funeral placard
on his dashboard
even after weeks of sunlight
have gifted the glum message
a magic hour glow.
his tires hug each curve
in the blacktop
like a tick crawling up a swan's neck
blunt smoke carrying a chorus
through the cracked car windows—
we're on our way to a lovely wreck, lovely wreck
la dee da dum, la dee da dum
the trapeze artist breaks her neck, breaks her neck
la dee da dum, la dee da dum—
the sun kisses the sidewalk
the sidewalk skins my palm.
brick walls borrow my blasphemy
bounce it back
lighter, lingering
a bit of reverb.