Two poems // Boona Daroom

Sub-glistening

The wood burns.

Red nubs spark.

On a black match

Stick I smell smoke.

Blues call the police

In the breeze.

I mash the phone

Her nose and Christ.

The tarmac lands

Cornice against

The pink teeth.

We cut and plonk.

Our hairs tangled.

Streams above us

Roll and ring deep.

The nectarous night.

Grand Gorge

The hornets hatch.

Summer and vermilion

Hurdle through windows.

Springing, hill-like and glass

Sprinkled in gravel. Three stories

Drop. The breeze brush of

Your face. An exclamation.

A slushy, running sound. Our

Mouths, spread and open. Barn

Doors expelling pollen

And livestock.

//

Boona Daroom's work has appeared in LIT, SOFTBLOW, Nashville Review, among other places. He lives in Brooklyn.