Poems

Nathaniel Lucas: ‘Ekphrasis’ and ‘Oxytocin’

Ekphrasis on a Possible Joke (Church-going) The congregation’s mostly sixty-ish solitary women, Indians and a few retarded street blow-ins who say the words out of time and smell of the early church. Wifely deacons jerk the censer, the sextet choir chants the hymns Bach, who wrote his works like the Bible, as training pieces, appears from the organ, the only ontological proof around here. And the biddies whisper who’s the young man? Why’s he here? And sermons on the death of Diana “we all remember where we were …” I don’t, no matter. Here’s the choice: the church or pleasant…

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