This is the subduction zone.
In a tantrum snit, Bigman shakes the Bigtop—
snow clowns loom, trumpets suck
the vortex open, & nightfall in mourning
comes. Peel the onion away—
Is this how the dance ends?
Night geese plummet into the sea.
Blood & phlegm fill my mouth—salty
plums, proof of flesh, of simmering
the rotting of the sacred air.
Slivers form bitter rubies against hardwood.
Cats make fastidious abattoirs of the living room.
Look, blood-fed Betelgeuse—
we wake in the field
our hearts buzzing, our hair silver.
We sail deeper into the war.
By a vent in the cosmos where dragons breathe,
we gather to sun our dust,
to mock opals & opulence
& the creaky powder that leaks
from cracked marble. Twitching nostril—
is that Bigman’s blood eye glaring from the window
or do we dream?
Amee Nassrene Broumand
Amee Nassrene Broumand is an Iranian-American poet. She has a B.A. in Philosophy & English from Boise State University, where she tutored logic for six semesters, graduated summa cum laude, & was named a Top Ten Scholar. Nominated for a Pushcart by Sundog Lit, she also has poems in Word Riot, A-Minor Magazine, Right Hand Pointing, Windfall, & elsewhere. She currently lives in Portland, Oregon & blogs for Burning House Press (UK).