2 micropoems by Arielle Tipa | #thesideshow

Zephyros

My dear,

you are not Venus –

your gilded oyster shell

is a five-by-three foot walk-in tub,

with its encircled evidence

of rose-pink glycerin soap,

and your hair cannot

cover, drape

the delicate pearl

between your thighs.

That man outside

your lofty

motel window pane

will not entreat you

to a lust-scented

expiration

of West Wind.

He’s carrying

a brown paper bag,

and praying to a street light

on his knees.

Sad Roma Dance

Accordion arms release the insatiable birdies, rope braid carriages in May daybreak –

may day break the lap dance funerals for uncles, for widowers and winters

of the violin bonfires and gutted strings, singing dirges of doves and droughts

and children bygone and begotten to ill –

the pocks, the gas, sacred chimney promises

and scattered troops of bleating goats

who lead to the Kaiser-kept palace of nacht.

Arielle Tipa is a writer and poet based in New York who takes a particular liking to poetry and tales of the fantastic. Her work has appeared in Venus Magazine and Dodging The Rain, and is forthcoming in Corvus Review. You can find out more about her on arielletipa.com.