no less
Zach Sussman
the world is not quite so cumbersome
as before. stars swim over a black sky
as evening spreads like a woman's fan,
covering the rush of this busy hour.
i look at my wrist, skinny as a flute.
blue veins branch beneath the white skin.
the body is an instrument of the gods.
the heart pulses. cells push through.
it's magic. like a rabbit pulled from a hat,
or a woman vanished in a curtained box.
at the center of this great spectacle
is silence. at the core,
like the apple eaten away
and only the eater's grin left,
is silence:
a moment of hesitation
when evening sets in and makes itself
seen. no more
no less.
