world 1-4

by David Krump

We had opened an opening: enter
cold crows, consuming the moon, Laurasia
formed in a liquor room. Outside,
a train moans past, summons rain.
:…::.:..:::.:..:.:(xyxyxy):..:.:….::.:.:….:::.::.::
Oceans began this way, she says, like
arrangements of stars, the way a child's
bedroom ceiling glows, but no more lacuna, birds on
fire.
She says, I can hear your heart beat-
ing your own ass inside this seashell. ha.
:::::::::::::………:::::::::::…:.:..::.:.::……:::
For a moment, granite fragments expelled
from the sky. We do not miss each other.
We miss lea moon, chattel carapace, fluvial fond.
(m)/(m):::::::::::::::::::: partial (o(i) :::..:.::.::

.

If night is a needle, the point—
                We dreamed we were Americas
                and these mountains ranged, became scars—
and is this drink, she says, reversing?
                Maybe: origin generated, Guinnevere
                gloaming, star splash and spill.

Copyright © 2005, David Krump

David Krump received his BS (abd) in English Writing from Viterbo University. Poems in Colorado Review, Rio: a Journal of the Arts, Chiron Review, Cricket Online Review, Blue Fifth Review, Red River Review, Steam Ticket, and about a dozen other rather kind journals. In addition his chapbook Night is a Good Child received the Florence Kahn Memorial Award for 2005 from the National Federation of State Poetry Societies. He is in the MSt in Creative Writing at University of Oxford.