Andrew Maxwell

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from hermetic stanzas (viii-x)

viii.                                         

Desperate inertia. Appearances only of gossamer. Clouds which drift
only and only dissolve in such. Absolute light these
dry words which. Proceed
from your bleeding lips. Offer
your lips now. No image transfigured. No sudden spring
from which. Fresh waters arise.

ix.                                           

Decisive           light finally. Gathers fresh garlands of leaves and fruit
lavishly from which. New figures of living and dying
are drawn by such
piercingly. Adamant knives now. Dividing
you from that. Impossible question that question you therefore.

Dare never to ask why. If only you did.

x.                                            

Fictive enclosures. Each cycle perfected by serpents. Their
unreal ways turning. Such terrible figures
of neon and glass which. Haunt

even your lips which. Surrounded by burning
chrome even your lips which. Still
hold and are
held by thorns bleeding. Still
bleeding and therefore. Unbinding your lips which     
ascend. In soft spirals of actual light.

Andrew Maxwell is from Bucks County, Pennsylvania. His poems have previously appeared or are forthcoming in Yalobusha Review, Lana Turner, Colorado Review, antiphony, and Conjunctions, among other places.