LA | NY A Special Edition of The East Village

Douglas Messerli

War Bride

Hear how it comes, through a sky
to be precise, trembling into
terrible proportions, infected
as it is with the air! She, patient,
utterly white, waits for it to
jump her. Now the beak! no, now
a sort of vibration that pulsates
like an immense chorus into emergence.
But to does not emerge, she is safe.
She looks over her shoulder and turns
into ice. "Why did this powerful force
refuse me" is the last though drained
with the blood of her brain. for eternity
she waits for the hot breath of beasts.

[from Elio Pagliarani]
August 24, 1998