Two Poems

Divine Residue

The cloud continent beneath us
stretches the sky past care,
the fickle sun now constant.

Where is the long-eared mammal
(I say rabbit, you say hare)
raised for the sake of our plates?

The light stuck between cinnamon
and caramel, I refuse to suck in
any more of this poison air.

Something has set my teeth on fire,
my tongue has dissolved, been swallowed,
is rocking inside its own acid pouch.

I will flush it out in the morning
with coffee, the rushed turd a blend of
tongue and rabbit, tongue come and hare


The Opposite of Business

What in a jar I blasted through
a concrete pipe in the woods
crammed with porn &
cherry bombs
our bodies too young to come
even though we rubbed &
humped with soap stars
in view
all minor explosions
nothing worth reporting or repeating
the autopsy points to stroke
nothing worth rotting or wronging
maybe they will listen
when I say Don’t crowd me so




Brian Henry's most recent book is Wings Without Birds (Salt, 2010). His translation of Ales Steger's The Book of Things will appear from BOA in November 2010.