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Pure mathematics (apologia) & October: cobalt

Poetry, Brody Alix


Pure mathematics (apologia)


I fell in love with you, again,

watching you mount the bookcase to a brick wall

loudly, painfully — 

the neighbors must have moaned.


Coated in pearlescent light from the massive

stained glass-topped window,

a London diffusive cast

softened accrued dark wood, stacks of magazines, 

               half-mopped canvas, and lighters.


We laugh together in bed,

a lost art,

silly and intimate —

two little spring branches brushing buds;


a silvered, clean stream suturing snow-heaped banks.

Breathing against autumn,

I thumb your beautiful corners —

after Apollonius: for this and for no other reason.


Rome, two thousand and fourteen, 

the dead poet's apartment where shaded from a small window rest a single bed;

two rolls of red, incommensurable, smothered shutters —

spilling bloody solitude over the room.



 

October: cobalt


Devilish days: hung, strung, listless

Beads of rain cling to dogwood

Jazz autumn in curtails


Body made ripe, like fridge-cold salted radish

Rhapsodize the delusion of intimacy

Laid up bareback on degenerate facade


Fresh as talc

Threadbare investiture

Clotho speaks her vengeance

Midnight blue concrete is mine.


 

Brody Alix is a Canadian writer and poet. She holds an MA in English Literature from University College London. Her work has appeared in flo. literary magazine, Common Ground Review, and was featured as part of Pride Toronto 2022. You can find her on Instagram @brodyalix


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