only what we see:
the relationship between
the vanished and responsibility;
contact seems ground
to locomotion: radio, television,
habitual coverage
of skies falling…
this anthem rings like a telephone
removed from its hook—
economy—
a paste poured across the way;
street lights
left hanging,
illumination no longer, but
parcels of permanent darkness
on street corners;
what of the fear?
what if we all prayed, including you,
for immobility?
there is the supernova
within: sweet nectar
approaching outward, waiting idly;
I stood where
I stood looking out while
praying the sea didn't begin
where it ended,
praying
that
night wasn't disease
or gift—
buildings that remain: baby's fists
to
greet the floating hours;
my
song, narrating
the plight of a pugilist;
swearing
that I knew you, I'd
known you all along…
but never naïve, you and I
could not, cannot tell
the difference between chasing
the
aroma
of colors, and blood
not
chasing anything
**
Cody
Todd is the author of To
Frankenstein, My Father(2007, Proem Press). He has
work forthcoming in Faultline, Hunger Mountain, The New
Delta Review, and Bat City Review. Other work has appeared in
The Pebble Lake Review, Grist, Harpur Palate, Salt Hill, Third Coast, andelsewhere. He received an MFA from Western Michigan University and
is currently a Virginia Middleton Fellow in the PhD program in
Literature/Creative Writing at the University of Southern California.
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