Winter 1983 • Vol. V No. 1 Poetry |

Pax Romana: Four Movements

1 Everything leans in the wind. Candles collapse In their own light. Vercingetorix and I Fly kites in a lean sky folding into a small Darkness over the earth. In the woods near Fontainebleau A linen cloth is spread on the wet leaves. Survivors live On rare Medoc and stolen eucharist. This holiday, these Final hours, women take off their clothes to pose: The cameras of death are everywhere.                 On this Sabbath afternoon, The liturgy is lost in crumbs. Vercingetorix begins to cry, Tangled in the kite string of a silly game he tried to play Like a paper bird toward nothingness.                 Oblique, I race my own Designs around this dreary picnic of pretense: A woman's hair All wet with residue; the men, in flannel stripes, arranged Around their odalisque on gray denuded grass.                    "Vercingetorix!" "Vercingetorix!" He catches me, my legs, my physical

Already have an account? Login

Join KR for even more to read.

Register for a free account to read five free pieces a month from our current issue and digital archive.
Register for Free and Read This Piece



Or become a subscriber today and get complete, immediate access to our digital archives at every subscription level.

Read More

The Last Installment

By Don Bogen

1 Everything leans in the wind. Candles collapse In their own light. Vercingetorix and I Fly kites in a lean sky folding into a small Darkness over the earth. In […]

The Warning

By Rika Lesser

1 Everything leans in the wind. Candles collapse In their own light. Vercingetorix and I Fly kites in a lean sky folding into a small Darkness over the earth. In […]

Subscribe

Your free registration with Kenyon review incudes access to exclusive content, early access to program registration, and more.

Donate

With your support, we’ll continue 
to cultivate talent and publish extraordinary literature from diverse voices around the world.