there is a hump in breathing
i do catch up with a snoring girl
thinking of snorri sturluson
the huffing lad
no idea how he made it;
his wife attacked him with a knife
to let him be the one-eyed knight
law speaker that
is poet too
trying to get over the hump
trying to achieve goal weight
by royal invitation
a blue poisoned ship
in which we sail
always wrestling the critical point in breathing
the mound of the great outdoors
this contact
this to behold
being humped by acts of leaving
the Althing
quasi-independent regions
multi part alternative
labia
under contenders
a lung thing
a thing of long lights
floating in cook pots
strength of voice
in what seems to have little weight
please don’t quote this, the snoring girl said
“In breathing there are two Graces”
life is not mixed like that
constraints & circulations
no sprawls
i bet you that
tell me when to stop
château d’if
the novelist’s chamber
crucial fortress
prison camber
for protestants
protect the coast from invasion
(still)
don’t we love Marie Durand
the everlasting snail lung
on either side of the heart
an impaired atmosphere
but you hear the people sing
through cardiac impression
you learn their little tongues
not the lobster’s scream
but perfect jumble
of two on the left
and three on the right
as tomorrow comes
the elastic stream
plenty of fonts
sighs & gaps
the air flow fold
—Martina Gertrude Siebert