The Cloud of Unknowing
O holy interval, remaster me!
I’ve not been irrigated for some time.
I had joined with her to be frightened. I had
willed her forth from a cold morning of
–––––––––––––––––––––––reversals.
Together we animals destroyed animals
inside the bed. Inside the bed a pig
can advance its choir. Only my sad
& useless humor refused not to hear it.
Angled cravings dredged phrases out
of inflamed solitude & spun by its wine,
pigsung to a peeking hope. Love would be
such a fine-tuned thing if only we could give
it up. I am no longer otherwise.
I have been hunted down by a cloud.
–
–
Brian Foley is the author of The Constitution (Black Ocean, 2014) & Puritan Landfill (Black Cake, 2015). Poems have appeared in Boston Review, Verse Daily,The Volta, Denver Quarterly, The Fanzine, Everyday Geniusand elsewhere. He lives in Denver and attends the University of Denver Creative Writing PhD Program.
Incessant Pipe 