Victoria Nordlund
After The Night of Enitharmon’s Joy, William Blake
Of showing only a razored profile,
of flexing the hardened flesh I choose to bare,
of knowing the three sides
of stories I cover with a black throw
of deceit that doesn’t reach my feet,
of spells I spew from this torched song,
of night thoughts of rising above the law
of return, of making no apologies,
of adding verses of vengeance to the chorus
of myself, of pledging truths to no one,
of listening to the mournful owl
of false wisdom dishing left-handed compliments,
of lounging with hypocrisy,
of thistle-eating asses and toads attending to my needs,
of never being lost, of never losing,
of controlling who is lost, of never feeling loss,
of never having anyone to lose, of never feeling,
of chanting this over and over to myself.
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Victoria Nordlund’s poetry collection Binge Watching Winter on Mute was published by Main Street Rag in June 2019. She is a Best of the Net and Pushcart Prize Nominee, whose work has appeared in PANK Magazine, Rust+Moth, Chestnut Review, Pidgeonholes, Maudlin House, and elsewhere. Visit her at VictoriaNordlund.com.