Tag Archives: Khakjaan Wessington

TRANSFERENCE DISPLACEMENT by Khakjaan Wessington

Your favorite lover’s conflicted, unfaithful;
The pupils deny it, the nighttime denies it,
Even the cat at the window denies it.
Inside, she purrs with the rhythm of engines;
While outside a vehicle sputters then ceases
To cough, while you climb from the warmth of the covers
Outside the treaty of bed to the kitchen:
Water by starlight and dishes in streetlight.
The river still flows from the faucet to toilet—
Its passage is medium, you are the message.
Alternate currents from sockets to ripples
Under the blankets—each passes the middle,
As liquid transmitted from organ to organ.
The body’s appendage: an orgasm fleeing
Death—that true faithful—the source of all echoes.
Lost in the maze of its shadows, the meanings
Obscured, you see death in your lover
And death in the rain out the window and everything
Passes from source; destination uncertain,
Passing regardless inside you, outside you.

KHAKJAAN WESSINGTON 1) Writes the Daily News Poem at http://toylit.blogspot.com, 2) Operates the deadliest literary fight club: http://combatwords.blogspot.com, 3) Was contributing writer for eXile.ru, 4) Had a poem published at thenervousbreakdown in August of this year, 5) Has just published the Toylit Q1/Q2 2010 print edition.

HAUNTED BY JUCHE by Khakjaan Wessington

A submarine plummeted, dented its hull,
Erupted its payload of bubbles to surface;
The mariners drowned in a bay lined with gulls.

A fisherman watched the acrylics that surged:
The sunset was doused while the ocean was heated
And margins of orange and purple emerged.

Commandos have nourished the crabs and the prawns
That nestled wherever the tissue was softest:
Ablating the borders, attritting the dawn;

Escaping the stillness that comes for all shells.
A tincture of clay that was drawn into motion,
Infused with the salts of the reef: it may dwell

At first on a farm, with the ragweed in corn,
And later at school, while saluting a portrait;
It finally ceases itself. It’s unborn

Again and it’s calling the roots to the mulch.
The stalks are obsequious, bowing completely,
While ribs flash a grin through the sediment’s gulch.

The hungriest know that the spirits exceed
The worst of incisions or impacts by bullets
And pray to be spared by the ghostly stampede.

The ancestors scream at night, rattle a plate,
Or startle the baby, or choke one on fishbones—
No malice intended, they’re watching from gates

Where the boundaries thin and the banished
Can comingle with vanishing; vanished.

KHAKJAAN WESSINGTON 1) Writes the Daily News Poem at http://toylit.blogspot.com, 2) Operates the deadliest literary fight club: http://combatwords.blogspot.com, 3) Was contributing writer for eXile.ru, 4) Had a poem published at thenervousbreakdown in August of this year, 5) Has just published the Toylit Q1/Q2 2010 print edition.