may bell

may bell

not a rook to maycaw its mockery
seats are pulled up to the maybell statuary
starling swipes up at a yellow tree
laburnum is poison it sings
yellow fish are stitched into a tree
tacked into the leaf and flower
the flowerpod
the seed –
maybe all three:
root, bloom, and seed
are stitched in.


seed slopes,
slews in
the crystal pool
its flesh blooms to an effort at tone
former desiccate, it corals the milk
sucking in meat
from water’s distress
and living nonetheless–
winding in its silver thread
beneath brine of flesh frond
 and secret too


draw in the silver thread beneath brine of flesh frond
shut in cold
shut in light
a silica scar
a stone embed
lit in rock
deep cut in
it forms a bird
graven arched
this place is unseamed


draw to the frayed lifethread the flame of it is subdued to a sense of lit
drawn-in too the seed sunk drowned in its slew of coral fibrous brine
threads separate underneath a shower of humus that in-bole-gathers
hammer and lead the gardener is raking rounds exposing the roots of
trees groved
trees grieved
sweetheart blossoms lie on wet ground bereft of their generations
there is only the marble of the statuary now fleshing its wounds so
seed will lie
seed will lie
may bell and cells form part of a dream sequence from The Blind (Oneiros Books, 2013). These sequences are © C. Murray.The book can be ordered online from Oneiros Books.


5 responses to “may bell”

  1. “Cells”draw in the silver thread, because in part of its own proportions, it’s own cell structure, and in part because there’s a linear development at least as compelling as the line-determined images, this poem exhibits what I call inner form. It begins to illuminate itself, and this leads to the surprise of the ending. Gemlike is no cliche applied to this poem. As I read it anyway (see for essays on inner form).


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