person Nathan Anderson, two poems

Nathan Anderson is a writer from Canberra Australia, his work has previously appeared in Otoliths and Gone Lawn. You can find him at nathanandersonwriting.home.blog.

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To a Smokestack

Mother we must hide away our spurs
as we have done
since your asking/telling
since your apocalyptic respiration
since your groping for sound
and feeling
in the heaped corners of the room
known as waking
and sleep walking

***

Forged
        and reformed

Without the glass, without the guiding hand, without ‘mother, mother, mother, mother!’

Without scavenging carnivores
          careening down carnival streets
sounding like carnivals
          sounding like enterprise

***

awake again past 4am
awake again in sweat and liberation
awake again in ‘mother, mother, mother, mother!’

\\\\\

Self-portrait as Dialogue

God you tell me I am estranged
from a skull on a weeping hand
a desperate malnutrition
a closing neck
God you speak to me in foreign tongues
to tell me not to waltz my crucifixion
to swallow sand
to be apart and part

God where is your loveliness
where is your starry music
where is your father/mother touch
your fragrant wild tones

God I told you I was sanctified
and cannot play your harp and sing
and cannot wheel around the western road
and cannot climb this stump

God, tell me, have you seen these apparitions
are you jealous of their hair
and indolence
do they make you dream of manumission

God when did you leave me prone as organs
when did you learn to torment spines
and lips
and clasping hands

God have you been told to be a good son
and made to count your fingers
and silver spoons
and ceased to have a name

God when will you give me back my paunch
and deign to greet me
when will you raise up slack upon the stone
heralding nudity

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