Konstantin Kulakov
OYSTERS AND POETRY
francophone flight attendants flock the Ven / eye sockets blotted by sun / i am longing for oysters & poetry & the oceanbreath that sleeps inside the shell / is this actually the longing for wealth or the longing for sea because I am far from sea & do not own beach front property & cannot afford oysters on the half shell? / i want to be barricaded from worry or ostracism so that i can write a line that is translucent, spare / more importantly, i am thinking about poetry & how it gives way to property, mathematics, & private equity firms / it is late apocalypse now & the billionaires are plotting to columbus mars / lines like how can we trust biden or kamala? / in other words, why can’t i take baths at 2 am at night? / these are things you do not see on CNN / no oysters tonight / i am after ostensible poetry: what do poets do about money?
HYMN TO APHRODITE, GODDESS OF COPPER AND ORANGES
check out my new
manacles. i sing
penny in mouth, swigging
orange juice. i can bring
summer evening. i know
aphrodite needs
chelsea or lower
east side, st. germaine
& copper cup.
memory is citrus
from mouth & her dress
near rainy grate. i do not
know if it was her violet
lips or new york or cafes
sans masks. i know—then—
dusk softened its
glass edges. now,
i collect oranges
& curse pennies
to forget the violence
of memory, its manacles.
i go downtown to
repeat that night, but
each time, the cocktails
buzz faintly, dying.
even dusk looks manic.