Gazelle of Ahnkshepenwapet
2021 Kyle Johnson
what did you see with
wet wide well doe eyes
gazelle of Ankhshepenwepet
so spared the hell of electric Bell
the lowly slowly sinking slide
will you tell us when to live and when to die?
the power of the seedling Piye will not be denied
rumple ruckle tumble crumpled
bottom of nested Karnak coffins
confining divined
skin-bag of bones,
adoratrice now this
ghost
thin-rag of riddle and Kushite stones
rare
dust clouding the air around
gazelle of Ankhshepenwepet
Not the Killing Kind
2021 Kyle Johnson
Empty I repeat “not the killing kind.”
But tiptoe over ancient lemon stone,
and munch upon the relic of the rind.
So long that mold and slime have intertwined,
the cream has curdled in the sink, alone,
Empty I repeat “not the killing kind.”
But a decent morsel is hard to find.
For l live with the ghost of chicken bones,
and munch upon the relic of the rind.
No flake of fish, lo aged game in brine!
Turned brackish water pool for scum always grown—
Empty I repeat “not the killing kind.”
A thought now pulls from oldest breath maligned:
Live he feasted, now I fester and groan
and munch upon the relic of the rind.
Aye, I’ll sup on the maggots in the mind,
gnash! Slash at a tyrant now dethroned.
Empty, I repeat “not the killing kind”
and munch upon the relic of the rind.