Kaveh Akbar

                  PORTRAIT OF THE ALCOHOLIC WITH MOTHS AND RIVER

​                              some moths don’t even have mouthparts using
                              only stored caterpillar energy
                              their lives are measured in days scissoring
                              tributaries        for every you there
                              are a hundred moths luxuriously
                              dying their spirits spoiled by excess

what you lack and the punishment for your
                                                                        lacking are the same          paling tulips gray-
  ing fingernails a body nearly stops
                                                                                            then doesn’t I have seen it a man slips
                                                                       beneath a blanket emerges clutching
                                                                      himself saying this is mine I found it

                              rivers often do the same thing claiming
                              whatever they pour into           cathedrals
                              gardens snakeholes do you see how afraid
                              I am for you          all men are drawn to the
                              black water moonless the quiet drums a
                              name it’s not yours it’s not mine listen

       to make life first you need a dying star
  this seems important with you so close to
    collapsing yourself the mute swan’s final
              burst of song        I know you’ve tried this before
                                                                 when they asked where it hurt you motioned in
                                                                                 a circle to the ground under your feet

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