Tony Mancus

Tony Mancus

For you, Eyesunlady,

the conchs and reeds and brassy turtle shells have been blown and dusted further off by
intrusion. The planks and masts have turned into crosses and doorframes: a distorted
promise of pearly freedom. Their announcement—dearest landmass,

you will be bested.

Given Assent

I am not the ravaged land I am not am not your gurneyed tree hand not not not I am not
your promised man I am not am not the siphoned gas I am not am not am not your holy
arm I am not am not am not your wishes grant

break not here now] break not here now] break not now] break break not not now] now
here here ye one spilt bird scream and I am not possession in am not am not full go in am
not am not my hands dove strained break not here now] break not now here now] go in

am one bird split screened shouts in I am not the bailing wire binds me up to in ye break not
here I a felled am not am not tree break not beaks now] here break not here now] ye

Eyesunlady,

Your disappearance from pictures is a hat to wear and take away: a variable
in weather. Your removal comes all in one swipe. I’ll not wear your fate like a gust-
blown-open door to my face.

The surface shifts continually but it’s never broken or bronzed, never offered in parcels up
to the to the hungry god’s-tongue of plunder or dismay. And where the stringsongs play,
Norsemen and other seafarers drop to their knees, their horns turn into factories of prayer.

Red sky at morning, sailors drunk in the flophouse. Red sky at night and the chickenshit
captain’s lips flutter at each word he sends down from the prow. What mutiny has he heard
in his heart? “How did I get here?” he asks. And his words hold him fast to his position and
his hands hold him fast to the spoked wheel. And his red, red heart, tattooed to his chest, is
the color of the very sky he’s busy with slipping his ship into.