by John Grey

you meet young men/forests
stuck on their own clay/deaths

muslims are forbidden to make images of humans in their art/streams
hence the arabesque/eternity

a principle/dogma in the universe/time

the energy patterns/oxymorons that flow through certain
               bones/triggers

you do not like owls/tracers/high-top sneakers

her eyes/tombs filing away data/wind
the senses/shrubs mere recording instruments/
presence

 

[John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident. Recently published in Fall/Lines, the Coe Review and Columbia Review with work upcoming in Cape Rock, Poetry East and Midwest Quarterly.]

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