Five Poems from Noelle Kocot
F o r e s t s F u l l o f B l o o d
The infidel purr of the whole world
Is busy running from rainclouds.
I spy a pylon and an upturned topaz.
I remember only what is relevant
To my mission on the planet
And no more, my head is full of feathers.
My heart throbs in the missing snow.
The refrigerator hums, I am unguarded.
How would you like it if your lifeblood
Was only a bug on a water glass?
The manger is weeping, the manger
Is weeping through the leaves
S y n c h r o n i c i t y B o o k
The paranormal doesn't agree with me.
The normal, you, sending me signs of love
And freedom, does.
Lies and arrogance make me ill.
Sweetness, you were truth,
Even if at the end you were caught in the lie of a needle.
Who understands? Because I am seeking understanding,
Even if I know I shouldn't.
Philosophy. Metaphysics. Fuck.
Just be with me, like you are,
And that will be enough,
As it was when you walked and ate and slept
Beside me, no plan on either of our parts,
No understanding from anyone else necessary
To create what will outlive us.
Help me to look outward, on the driving wind.
And please don't stop your messages;
I read something like happiness for me in them.
S t a r o f t h e S e a
I put the fear of God into a radish,
And ate it whole—moing!
Really, no taste of lambchops
Kept me quiet,
As the night’s spokes fought
Wild over tepid ice.
I slept through the rapture,
O! And returned to find
A stifling load. I fixed it,
Once, I fixed it twice,
I doubted a hand over
Too many stones.
Love, my wintering toy
To watch its leavesongs
On my silly gong.
I guess that’s why it’s called
The fruit of blanks,
Always succor,
Never ill-conceived.
R a v i n g U r n
For Kat
I wanted to write you
The most beautiful poem
In the world. Straining
Through gray screens,
Stammering Italian verbs,
A capsized wok is filled
With snow peas, opulent
Scat in the background,
As nails of rain pin night’s
Tapestry to our un-
Curtained window.
Getting up in the morning
Is foreign to me. I still don’t
Know how to put a sheet
On the bed. An empty urn
Raves in a closet. My diet
Is shit. If it’s truth you want,
Walk slowly down the street,
Shop for exotic pets,
Emulate skin-fire in a laughing
Gold box and wait for dusk
On an anonymous tightrope.
Everything good’ll come your way.
T r i b u t e # 2
I predict that instead of one
I will be two.
I predict that if ever I was
To fuck anyone, we would be three.
I predict that if ever we were to have
A child, there would be four.
I predict that I will never fuck
Anyone ever again.
I predict I will have at least
Five more cats this lifetime.
I predict long gyrations of thought
In the grass.
I predict a wild wind in academia.
I predict I will wave a broken wand
Across the universe.
I predict that you are a river and a tree.
I predict nothing.
I predict the end of my predictions,
And the loss of the whole world
At your brilliant shadow,
And that I will continue to hum
Your buried music like a refrigerator
Deep into the night.
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