Greek Avant Garde Poetry


Matina Stamatakis

Landscapes Without Fruit

        vying for what hunger in tooth
		is delivered through a spoon
		is a dallied-up nothing of orphan-starve

	a barren orchard bares its knots
         is callous prone & of the gout
					a moat—no water
				    a moan of secret shelters

		& this house of babies swaddled
		with their own emaciated cores 

              	[oh sleep
        you are far too benevolent]



knows not its proportions
—— is unbounded

is paper slicked with gadfly spit   		
is sprawl of plump esophagi         
so's the ligament diagram                  
so's the bone protrusion    
& archaeopteryx specimen  

so's the dung beetle imprints 
of motion along sand  		
the tiny hairs along her backside 
to mark the moment of ripples   

Mute If


gather up your wounds & gutters      

& meet my eyes in a fix
there are pink discoveries & unopened doors    

		go if must— if musk disperses its scent 

              in all the right places    

     —— hibiscus buds
 the blush drawn back into my chest       

stillness if such a move should suspend itself  
in the swell of hot nights  
				 your belly

      is the earth is crowing in its skin-mesh      

                  & go must

              search through this skin-sac       

             for shrunken remnants of breath



it is all fleshes of sinew     
& not flying into this verse
where guts tease     the night        
terse it is—— swirl of flies

I long the strain to set me free you see    
before the intensity of seeing your form 
leaves mine blindly                 
but not before coiling   [ I think
this mouth begs to wander away
 from  the face]        pith of 

	pressure points
	an "ah" with it