Confessions III


In a city or town that retains its attractiveness because of the pleasing contortions of the
branches, a post-office box in the ordinary way, patients complaining about the quality of
hospital food, letters received at places from home and abroad, the estimated end of the nuptial
period. I was declared to be freely naturalized in either kingdom (city of the legal department), I
was smoking for twenty-odd years: a textbook case of the true cortex, I give at the office.
Decorated in yellow, with relief panels in silver, Iím terribly sorry I brought you along, you can
see past the black-oak lands of the general theory. For not ducking the jack of diamonds at trick
two? I am four months old (to drive the officials mad), just a low-grade courier, proportioned to
the character of my race. Did I say I am a textbook case? If they hear of him, a fertile field, aged
sixty-seven years, the death of a gentleman in a city dreaming of a nuclear heaven, strange that
he should drop like that, strange that our march today lay through straggling forests.


This poem is from a new manuscript Anis is working on by the same title. Anis's last two poetry books were Soraya: Sonnets (June 2016), and Whatever Speaks on Behalf of Hashish (Oct. 2015). New poetry appears in Black Warrior Review, Western Humanities Review, Gulf Coast, Epoch, Volt, Fence, The Journal, and elsewhere.