NOELLE KOCOT

 

 

 

Growing Up

 

Sewed to salt, we revel in the
Beautiful. But this terrain is harsh
And unwelcoming. The syntactic
Shift in our lives is actually tectonic,

And we swim along backwards
Over pools of ice. Once, our
Compound parkways were only
Islands. Meanwhile, to watch

Our shadows drop was a deciduous
Tree standing lonely. Oh, it was
Igneous, unblinking. The ladders
Swaying in the high shadows left

Us no regret, and the mountains
Of this parabolic city finally grew up.

 

 

That Which Disperses

 

Chyme hammering away at
The habitual particles,

A house of water improves
Upon heaven's job. The

Center of home is a pair of
Gold curves. Crouching

Beside these doors, the
Delighted sidewalk intensifies

To a pair of knees. The insects
Fill up the night like a song.

Jigsawed habituation, the
Flung wreckage sipped a

While then receded. I do not
Know where these obsequies

Lead, or if I should stop them
While they lie close to the

Ground. Plates of gristle,
New slippage, time seems hacked

By a coroner's heavy head.
I give you something through

The stage lights, a vegetable
Without a peel. I ask you to

Say something to the dark,
For example, the blood crouching

With the departed other, singing.

 

 

Concussion

Feathers where a head
Should be,

Double without two.
This dark behooves me,

And yet I cannot sleep.
Miracles of saints,

How do you say lightness?
Fingers ablaze,

I got nothing,
But thought I'd tell you anyway.

 


Noelle Kocot's seventh book of poems, Phantom Pains of Madness, is due out in spring from Wave Books. She is poet laureate of Pemberton Borough, New Jersey.