Robert Krut

YOU WILL PRAY TO WHAT WE GIVE YOU

A golden blanket covers the city,
the neon and streetlamps finally busted open,
the power gone out along Grand Avenue,
so all that’s left is the reflection
of a full moon in all that shattered glass
caught in smoke and fog like stars in gauze—

—and as we look above to the source,
that moon births a sun in front of our eyes
and we are blinded, with no choice
but to fall to our knees and praise the light
with all we have left, as it is all we have left.

 

THE SUN AND THE GROUND CONSPIRE ETERNITY

The sun bakes the pavement
so it stays warm underneath, growing
the bioluminescent grasses downward
for the grounds of the underworld,
where we send our avatar bodies
on that negative landscape,
reenacting our performances
as movies that will run then burn out
like celluloid and ultimately—
if we’re lucky—
feed the lawn as it grows
and grows again like hair
long after we’re gone.

Author Portrait

Robert Krut is the author of This is the Ocean (Bona Fide Books, 2013), which received the Melissa Lanitis Gregory Poetry Award, and The Spider Sermons (BlazeVox, 2009). His poems have appeared in numerous journals, most recently Gulf Coast, Passages North, Blackbird, A Dozen Nothing, and more. He teaches at the University of California, Santa Barbara, and lives in Los Angeles.

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