Thursday Nov 23

Wong-Poetry Nicolette Wong is the editor-in-chief of A-Minor Magazine and Press. Visit her here

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Inside the Bell Flowers
         —after Shuji Terayama


Brown wings for a wreath. For slumber at sea or mirage of an inverted sun. The clouds of her dirge cleanse me of my shame: hymns unsung, torches lit with scriptures on the rocks, homes for orphans. Her steps cutting a silver trail across the soil. A mercury fire that stirs, shadow raging its blade in the leaves.

The winter axe plots my fall out of her twilight, stark coma, etchings of youth in a home of lycrois corpses. Wake me. Free me. A skylark about to take flight. With blood in my eyes.





Hymn
         —after Shuji Terayama


Burnt by a bullet piercing through sunlight,
                   I am cluster amaryllis
blooming red along the cliffs—
                   a song of hope executing itself.