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Karen Mary Berr – Poetry & Video

Karen Mary Berr – Poetry & Video

Monthly Archives: November 2016

3 A.M

24 Thursday Nov 2016

Posted by Karen Mary Berr in Poetry

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Awake at night,
I heard the sky once.
Stars were cracking
in their cold jar of ink.
I held my breath,
while the earth
broke my heart —
There was no sound
under that one.

I knelt in a light dress
before the missing hand
the weight, borne,
I knelt for the father,
the lover, gone,
I knelt like a child
before a mathematical
problem — Nothing came.

And I still don’t know
what I miss the most
— an answer
to Cassiopeia’s frost,
or a hand that tends.

Divide

16 Wednesday Nov 2016

Posted by Karen Mary Berr in Poetry

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And God, before the invention of air,
came to a breaking point,
being One and lonelier than ever,
burning as a thousand suns
waiting to be crashed like beads,
shaken by the idea of
other celestial bodies,
— apples heavy,
sweet berries —
Sighs suddenly
filled his mouth.
One, One, One,
screamed God,
having no elsewhere,
and the word split
his lips, unwinding the world
like a ball of wool
in the shadow
of his voice.
There was finally something
shaped with his joy
— or was it his pain ?
as an ingredient.
Something separate
and indivisible
that He called,
inspired by a french movie,
“a Man and a Woman”.
Pierced afresh by
God’s cry,
they wanted only to be
One, pretending each day
more and more
One, almost
killing each other
for the love of these three
letters.
In their constant failure,
under the velvet of their tongues,
God felt a pleasure
without end.
His own, his own,
his own agony,
— his unique wound
was gone.
Of course,
it was a tragedy,
but the lightest word,
the tiniest sheen of ink
now refracted
all the colors of the dark.

Silence

02 Wednesday Nov 2016

Posted by Karen Mary Berr in Poetry

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Farewell my friends,
I’m going to stop there.
The air smells of madness
and I’ve forgotten the words
that once nourished
the red of my lips.
The tree inside my chest
is turning to pure shining gold,
I can feel its ore
flying off the flesh,
each note
flying off the page.
There are things too incandescent
for reality to carry them,
the flame, out of the frail
holy square has been stolen
—  it feels so old a pain.
I am kneeling here
as the world watches it
disappear with a smile
—  and nothing after.
I can speak in no voice
other than a scream.

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