Two by Corey Mesler
The Body Opens Like a Flame
The body opens like a flame.
There is stillness in
vulnerability, a stillness that
is almost consoling.
Pain sears, then scars. The body
fancies its humanness.
It knows no other way to en-
joy things. It is its
own worst enemy, the self-
immolator, the killer dreamt.
The body opens, in
this desert of the heart, like a flame.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Corollary of the New Book
The book we pick up
is not the book we need.
We riffle its pages as if
we were the kindest of
winds, but our impatience
shows. The lights ahead
tell us to keep moving.
The people we meet
on our way to the podium
are the people we may
yet learn to love. We want
that. Love. And its com-
mitments, and its way of
bringing us pain and joy
and new ways of reading
the books which keep ap-
pearing like another weather.
The Body Opens Like a Flame
The body opens like a flame.
There is stillness in
vulnerability, a stillness that
is almost consoling.
Pain sears, then scars. The body
fancies its humanness.
It knows no other way to en-
joy things. It is its
own worst enemy, the self-
immolator, the killer dreamt.
The body opens, in
this desert of the heart, like a flame.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Corollary of the New Book
The book we pick up
is not the book we need.
We riffle its pages as if
we were the kindest of
winds, but our impatience
shows. The lights ahead
tell us to keep moving.
The people we meet
on our way to the podium
are the people we may
yet learn to love. We want
that. Love. And its com-
mitments, and its way of
bringing us pain and joy
and new ways of reading
the books which keep ap-
pearing like another weather.