Daniel Fitzpatrick grew up in New Orleans and now lives in Hot Springs, Arkansas, with his wife and daughter. He studied Philosophy at the University of Dallas and his poems have appeared or are forthcoming in several journals, including 2River View, Amaryllis, Panoply, Eunoia Review, Ink in Thirds, and Coe Review. He plans to finish his first novel this year. In addition to writing, he enjoys micro-farming, exploring the Ouachita Mountains, and kayaking the Diamond Lakes.

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Phil of Art

Tongue divides the light
shining void
on fitful white.

I

Pin-thin,
deaf, and
ever forgetting,

the baby,
centurion,
orphan of spring,

trips with
ash, paper
into grates

and slumbers
through sewers,
trailing

tattoos twined
with summer’s
grime,

but at
the tap
tap tap the

scoured score
revives
to evening nines

and again in
Sardanapalian ease
moves among the welcoming

masses.

II

Planted in blank plenty
it purposes the light and
potted on the wall
wakes an ageless lust

that lingers through the husky rasp
of desiccate arabesques
to certify surgical eyes
applied to its forgotten face.

III.

Break     by     break     by
past     the    shock    math
lips    lids    cheeks   teeth
brush   breast   bite breath.
Storm shifts, ships weight
so      grip      gives      and
spear   sinks    steel – swift
swept      up     wet     sand
till      form       still       fit
sheds    salt     and   stands
nude    not    now    armed
in      stance      to     strike
by      flame      of     wave
with  bronze  beard  green
and    drip    drop      mind.

 

[image:  Eugène Delacroix - La Mort de Sardanapale (1827) {detail}]