[…]


Nicole Mauro

Osprey


I.
My son–in the brookweed

Innocent–to the extent

that a boy caught between a young man
and an old child

could be–these headlands

could be–this man-child I beget

soon will come fucking

the lithesome behind sedges

osprey in a repertory–lifting ecstatic

“the quest for satiation is urgent”

as though pulled

invisibly by kedges

II.
Lust–there is no way to know when it’ll go squnk
in his pocket

osprey–invisibly by kedges

after a hive of bugs vibrating–soon jacking-off
becomes chronic

My son–in the brookweed

your daughter–the direct object

of my son’s

gooey sockets–perhaps the function of gum blown
pervertedly

I change his bed sheets–“a conspirator of emergency”

III.
How dearly, I thought

there is no way to separate–his loin
is intransitive

–the palm from the cock. It does not take
a direct object, it is a hedge

like a brunette crotch.

I clean sheets, they fold
pervertedly–your daughter

O repertories of flesh

I taught the boy to hold onto it
vertically

as though skimming a rock–said if

the arrogant thing on him
lifts

apparently refuses to drop, and “the quest for satiation is urgent”

you must drub it
to stop

the brookweed quivers–the spleen
seems to floc

My child–carefully

puts a bug in his pocket

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