|
|
s p i l l
---
W I L L I A M M . G O T T L I E B
sphenogram to spin
Spiderweb those sphery, spiking eyes,
bestialize
the celestial, predatory reader,
breasts like threats,
feline loins wet, raptor
wings the sphygmus of the possessed sky,
a correct
answer required: What am I? –
phoneme only, ink-
lings, yet the
deadly
Sphinx.
My monster, my mother, my lover,
are these letters a spill of your humor,
black bile,
the Oedipal
blood
of uncovering, still-
quivering eyes,
or the blinding writer’s?
|