Larissa SzporlukFruit of Discord
Mine is a dry tree. The sons of aliens want me. They have a need. We all have a need. To construct a man made of grass is the grass widow's need, but she lies in the heat of the wet tilled field, unfulfilled, rewriting her need. If heaven were bigger, if hell less a machine-- are they beaming at me? Are they singing? Someone needs honey, someone else cream or foam, another needs Helen, a raw eleven, bare-chested, hurling stones. What is your need? Not me? Not my worm? Not to love what is worn? Not to lick my sick peels but fuck her hard breath in the gym? Whose side are you on? If you want something quick, but need it to last, no strings attached, pick me. My hole is black.Dark Eros
She smirks, sets herself up on a cinder cone--How does it feel, she asks the old mountain, to have no choice but to feel? Succuss of Anoton's glottis. Rumbles, plutonic debris. Feel this, she hisses into his sphincter, then does something evil with fruit--oh, the power to cry! Oh, to be able to cry! His mouth is under the sea now. The past is a quasi-fetish. I was only a child, but my obsession with you was divine.
Larissa Szporluk is the author of three books of poetry, Dark Sky Question (Beacon Press, 1998), winner of the Barnard Poetry Prize; Isolato (University of Iowa Press, 2000), winner of the Iowa Poetry Prize; and Inside the Dog-Fish, forthcoming from Alice James Books in 2003.
