I swear by Apollo the physician

May 21

By Amaury Wonderling

Highly Commended, ‘Written Word’ Category

Sir, please try to remain calm and look at
the Thames.
                    Spume.
It’s sputum and I have to drink it all.
                    Sure.
It’s my duty.
                    You can’t drink a whole river.
I can drink a whole river.
                    You can’t drink a whole river.
Pag may tiyaga, may nilaga.
                    Pardon?
I just need the right straw.
                    And then what?
And then.
                    And then what?
We triple Lutz Bonaly Bonaly to a palace
of sweet dough.
                    Doe.
Vineyard path lined with oleanders. Grapes
not cysts grapes the size of watermelons.
                    Oh lord. My poor wife.
                    Melon my wife oh lord.
Every night autolytic souls part the clouds
and I warm them up in the Salon of Hercules.
                    Straws. We need straws.
I purge caress pop caw drip embers them
and fulfill your lungs with lavender sachets.
I try and I cry and I try and we.
                    Does the palace have a keep?
                    Can we feel the bells in our bones?
                    I want the realness of a malachite urn.
A farandole of I’m so sorry.
                    It’s not your fault a farandole.
Of sea angels in muslin dresses toll the bells
while we bathe in halo-halo and.
                    And then.
I don’t know.
                    Amen and then.
Amen let’s cough out our eyes
                    and wrap them up in
clean bedspreads
                    embroidered oh lord
with vocal cords.