to look like something new – Pierce Lockett

In the thrushlike howl
I saw his middle eyes,
Running like schoolchildren to
The aggregate bridge
Towards a smile, a
Posing of teeth, dirt.

Rooming here, beside
The stags, nearer the bush
We sang our praises
On ghosts, and other things,
Bad juju. Snow sleeping
On our shoulders-
Their memory as extended
In real space
Nearly now
To the attic of desire.

Black trees leer over
Our fogbreath, following
Our whispers along a sad, clear line.
The meat like basalt, aching,
Chipped to the brim with goosefat,
And pine.

What of hyacinth? To speak ill of
Blooms, the glory? What of the dead,
The bones beneath-
And their eyes?

Standing, now, austere and rank
We were, talking of
Recapitulating them, like owls
Wooing, like sirens.
Pierce Lockett

Pierce Lockett currently resides in Philadelphia and studies English at Muhlenberg College.