Apartment Poetry Quarterly

9A              9B              9C              9D              9E              9F


9E Nyoka Eden



I licked the worn thread of your ideated god.

It curled beneath me as if my mouth were a sharp little box.

I devoured my tongue and the rest in my muscles,

the hard, thick seed of your design. I did it all in one quaff.

The body, the philosopher Jean-Toussaint Desanti said, has the unity of zero.

To verify that wine has body, one must taste and swallow it.

It must disappear.

For Christ's sake, I cannot see you anymore.


And I have never come so far as to g(r)aze upon you.

I am after red, green, but do not get me wrong.

I am after yellow, and I am after white.

Blue, I am having a bad dream, deliciously.

In the pink, call me back with your own bulb.

I am not roosting; I am warming my seed.

Every hue seems to say to you how now, how now?


One square of Earth to grow meaning in the womb.

I cannot hold the number, but I must

share my form, must hum with beings who

give me back my body in zeros.

You can see me cross your eye as a wave of light forever in the open mouth of god.