TWO POEMS | NICOLETTE WONG

Inside the Bell Flowers
         —after Shuji Terayama

 

Brown wings for a wreath. For slumber at sea or mirage of an inverted sun. The clouds of her dirge cleanse me of my shame: hymns unsung, torches lit with scriptures on the rocks, homes for orphans. Her steps cutting a silver trail across the soil. A mercury fire that stirs, shadow raging its blade in the leaves.

The winter axe plots my fall out of her twilight, stark coma, etchings of youth in a home of lycrois corpses. Wake me. Free me. A skylark about to take flight. With blood in my eyes.

 

Hymn
         —after Shuji Terayama

 

Burnt by a bullet piercing through sunlight,
                   I am cluster amaryllis
blooming red along the cliffs—
                   a song of hope executing itself.

 

Wong, N. (n.d.). Nicolette Wong – Poetry. Retrieved February 18, 2015, from http://www.connotationpress.com/poetry/2210-nicolette-wong-poetry
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