Clade Song 6
Clade Song 6 Left

Clade Song 6

To Consider Our Milk


I’ve been visited by an entire farm of sleep.
I place folded hands across my chest, breathe the phrase, You have been truly touched.

A bone sutra is a liniment of skeletal chalk?
We cry for milk.  The book grows wet, stains our blouse.

If it had a chest, my small intestine would feel your softest kiss.
Somehow it does, and I grow aroused in a room without turning mirrors.

To even consider a swan-necked number makes me detect a galaxy in horse droppings
     and gnats.
We’re all alike because of the single spinal nerve.

Massage the medulla oblongata and feel starlight inhabit each incarnate moan.
Ligaments of forest trees might be willow root or frankincense my mouth.

I can’t stop chalking my own framed cage.
I have been insisted by an arm, a sheep, a consigned clutch.

Somehow all the plants know my name.
Tell me, but keep it brief.  Is it IYouUs?




Clade Song 6 Right

George Kalamaras, former Poet Laureate of Indiana (2014-2016), is the author of fifteen  books of poetry, eight of which are full-length, including Kingdom of Throat-Stuck Luck, winner of the Elixir Press Poetry Prize (2011) and The Mining Camps of the Mouth (2012), winner of the New Michigan Press Prize. He is Professor of English at Indiana University-Purdue University Fort Wayne, where he has taught since 1990.