Mark Lamoureux
Super Flower Blood Moon
Crying out for barefoot angels
under the blood moon
like a writer
of psalms; the horns
of the unicorns poured
out like water: tears
in the veil like the death song
of the borealis. Steward
of my blighted body, the splinter
of my eye, the eyes
of needles & the damage
done to votives is my prayer
to the Destroyer. Destroy me
like dawn mist, let me lift
into cumulonimbus
a black ghost in the night
season again. My gentlest friend,
the cake is cut
& bleeding in the shadow
of home.
Recidivist
Hanged on the gallows
of words & kicking
like a baby, crying
tears of afterbirth.
Prana leaks
from the desiccated claw
of my body,
a comma curling
to full stop.
A ghost of flesh,
skin cold
& untouched
like a sheet
of new snow
over open
graves,
listening
to the quiet voices
of the dead
who say only
come.
Mark Lamoureux lives and practices yoga in New Haven, Connecticut and teaches English at Housatonic Community College. He is the author of six volumes of poetry. His work has appeared in Fence, spoKe, Yes Poetry, Ping Pong, and other publications.