Bella Peacock

Romulus Cento

The mongering wolf leaves its trace
its tears, its rows of teeth.
Seeking your mouth for disavowals
for what can't be said
for those shrouds
anonymous pains in a strange house.
The whispered cries of chiming clocks
The small hours, the livid wound
the rising walls where night is in men's eyes
& wolf howls to the west of war

Time, relentlessly allotted
like a blind machine
Relentless the pages turn, relentless
age approaches.
Only words still stand: story's crystal bone
I dream you into being
Let today froth from your mouth.

More and more I see the human form is dark meat
which longs to be the sea
Open my ears & let your frenzy enter
quick, intense, like a woman's confession
whose sweat reminds us
it will be as it is in life.
To die means leaving
wide-mouthed red flowers & bee hives
& the cinema of sleep
To die means leaving
its quarrels & its motion & what is empty
& all things unsolved
To die means leaving
my life, this shirt I want to take off -
your shadow


by Bella Peacock