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 May 2017 Styles 12
Selman Akıl
To Mari


I can close my eyes
and like anyone else
in the universe, I can hear
the whispers of materials,
matter and masses.

Like anyone else
in the universe, I can hold
from the inside,
from their center
with my hands
any solid object.
A solid rock for example.
A solid water, a solid cloud.
Certainly, like anyone else
In the universe.
I can play football
in the storms, under the rivers
and on the rainbows.

I can create art works,
The masterpieces I mean
Just with a simple glance
Like anyone else
In the universe, I am
The energy of the universe,
And when I close my eyes
I am the universe itself.

I am the stone and
The shape of the wine
At the same time
I am the hands of
Everyone, the eyes of ground
I am the life in the blood
Of an unborn poet, I am
The magic of a poem.

I am the spirit of naked night,

I am made up
Of the heat, speed and light -



09.03.2017, İstanbul
 May 2017 Styles 12
L B
“...Your words were found and I ate them.
They became a joy to my heart. In my mouth—
a sweet delight, but in my belly—bitter...”
                                                ­ --Jeremiah


...But that night
by dim background of next-room light
I could not see your face
just feel your hush of shadow words
on spine of shudders

Seems we dropped this bomb
that would not stop exploding!

...And I was sure?
that it was right?
because...because....!
Their eyes were slanted!
So they could not see—
the “Good Guys”
VANISH—
WIDE-EYED—!
in its TOO-MUCH-LIGHT

Still your voice insists
in pause and fissioned hiss
that I MUST KNOW
in tender half-life
TRUTH
too pure
too deadly white

I swallow lethal glowing dose
HOW CAN YOU SPEAK
SUCH WORDS SO CLOSE!

EXPOSED!

“...in mouth sweet—in belly bitter…”

Stories? and the Grandma Song
rendered tender—lull of voice
Soul’s cabinet cleared of venial sin
Last of all—the tucking in.....

They say you first get sick....*

Seems we dropped this bomb
that would not stop exploding!
And I am invisibly ill—with truth
approaching critical mass

Will angry rads incise their ways?
Will leaden swords of angels drive them back?

In this night—
my bedtime stories fainted at your
whispers...whispers...WHISPERS—

fusing an oblong fear
that I MUST NOT DROP!
but I cannot hold!

Fetal-folded
frail and freezing
under covers— just barely peeking

“Jesus hanging on the cross…Tell me-- was it I?”
Jesus hanging in the cross
TELL ME! IT’S NOT TRUE!

"Tell me, mother
Were you God talking?

I could not see your face
by the next room’s light..."
My mother told me some bad **** sometimes just before bedtime, and I never forgot it.
Written 1995
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