​

Christos Kallis

 

 

Beginning smells ending, and vice versa

 

The begging of time now over. The wings

Now folded into neat squares, now tucked

Under the bed next to dreams.

A different begging now begins.

 

All the cruel months and the anathemas

And the wetting of the bed with tears and

The single kiss and the pair of lips and

End.

 

The regret. The regret. Of folding the wings

Before they burned. The fear of too soon

Is the fear of fear.

 

What smells is the dessert

Or the desert. What is served on a silver platter?

A dream beheaded. A head dreamed.

A vowel? Even

 

The new wings announced. New,

As in shiny. New, as in unborn.

Handy Book

 

Something about the girl who use to jump from 

Pool of rainwater to pool of rainwater, with no umbrella 

In her hand, makes the downward motion of rain,

Irony. Before motion, before emotion, a couple

Sat alone together, sipped a latte, left too early

To be late for dinner. 

The baton was passed to the moon. 

The light dimmed. 

The boy with a book as hands couldn’t understand

The meaning of the verse & he read again 

About the girl who use to jump from pool of rainwater

To pool of rainwater, with no umbrella in her hand. 

The baton was passed to the sun.

The light simmered. 

The boy with a book as hands understood 

That like the girl who use to jump from pool of rainwater 

To pool of rainwater, with no umbrella in her hand, 

The verse jumps from line to line, with no meaning.