I run toward an armless Venus wanting a hug. I have faith
in marble lips delivering the heart of a kiss. A petrified flesh
orchestrates the world and with it my folly.
The carved caress will always shimmer with a stubborn and
elegant insistence; yet, I feel implicated by a necessary series
of interrogations that waddle inside an impromptu soliloquy.
By now I should have learned when you sleep with stone
you get up smelling of statue. A rock will last and last
but it is frozen, like what I see in her chiseled glance.
Return to Sender
The man from the Paper called about your obituary again.
He asked if I would like to keep the part about your
suicide in. I told him he should not end his sentences in
prepositions. It’s the kind of answers I give lately,
somewhat abrupt and not really answering the question,
the short note you left… “Forgive me.”
copyright © 2006
Braquet exists in New Orleans, but like most poets lives in a world
of his own schmoosing. His poetry has appeared in such publications
as The New Laurel Review, THEMA, The Tap Root Review, Lucid Stone,
Desire Street, Poetry Life & Times, The Breath Magazine, Red River
Review, The Pedestal Magazine, Pierian Springs, Tryst, Side Reality,
The Adagio Verse Quarterly, The Little Green Tricycle, The Junket,
Tin Lustre, L'Intrigue, Branches Quarterly, Stylus Poetry Journal,
Subtle Tea, The Exquisite Corpse, Slow Trains, and The Melic Review.
He was a recipient of the Delirium Journal’s 2003 Choice Award,
and placed third in the 2005 Eugene Walter Writers Festival. He is
the Featured Poet in the current issue of The Hiss Quarterly.