Poecology

Issue 2

 

 
 

Rosebud Ben-Oni

 

The Gangster as Narwhal

 
 

You woo like the circulating blades
of a motor’s whoop-whoop, whoop,

You capsized my slender boat,
with your horn, the only means of teeth

spiraling still– how well you play a drowned
corpse, my deep diver, far from swan-spined

or supple-sighted, your song in the dark
is discordant: the reeling-in of broken

lines, the echo of a lost howl, prehistoric
falling, the suddenness of a shot in the dark.