Three Poems

Master

Complete integrity is abject. Four thousand bright caterpillars made their way through a country wood. But it’s only the “after” that counts: small, toothmarked doorways like a dull constructivist sculpture. So the house—once anachronistic—becomes a “modern take” on a classic memory. A kind of genesis two. Where we all have the same babies, and they eat with equal velocity.



Putting on Airs

When preservation is immaterial, it becomes cloudy to lock things up. Just now, it was raining in the north category of news-map. Two items of affection: mud that lacks sincerity … and. “It’s brute and inconsequential." So I stole her ugly heels. When the maturation is complete, your biology refuses “engineering.” To remedy this: more ice coolers filled with afterlife rubber. More aeronautic hillsides. And the results: hypnotic and ruly, an almost schematic “no.”



Manners

I find all the plastic events extremely uncasual and boring. The concept of “ceremony” is relegated to less-affectional categories and you rely too heavily on the future.

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Madeline Zuzevich lives in New York and has recent poems in mercury firs, No, Dear, and Spectra Poets.