October 30, 2012

One poem by Jana Branch

The Look of Certain Sounds

Your suffering mouth on my ear, my suffering
mouth buried in our sheets— this loss of civic normalcy 

finally lights a clandestine gap that words have not,
begins to lace tender and lascivious thoughts and unravel 

the relentless commitment to What Should Be— the idea
that We are any Measure of any Thing. My suffering 

mouth moans the lowest language, so as never to be
mistaken as nobility or sanctity. I annul the contract 

with this destiny. Stroke my alien skin.
Eye my virgin lips. Again. Yet Again. I begin. 

Jana Branch is a poet, screenwriter and communications strategist currently based in Santa Monica, California. Find more of her work at: 

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