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The Beginning before the Beginning

Angela Sundstrom

In the niche of a movie theater

desire moves like a volt.
It begins in the pelvic floor,
its hot kernel stoked

into extremities.

Desire hunts in the woods,

climbs the radio tower,
propels forward, gives no choice.

A priori;

it resides within itself.
Desire is needy, demands a lack
in order to operate,
requires the possibility of not being fulfilled.
It walks alone along the shore at night,
swells with both proximity and distance,

worships at the altar of the forbidden,
plays in a tableau of the taboo.
It’s robin’s egg blue, strung through.
Desire darkens and expands,
unravels and reforms of its own accord.
Desire is a still life,
translucent green grapes,
a solitary, pale orange,
the curvature of a peach,
absence.
Desire is a venomous muse,
resplendent in not-knowing,
what is almost revealed, but cannot yet be seen.

The image at its conception,
the moment before creation begins.
It is the color of milk,
the forest’s green after storm,
slash of birch bark
against an expansively skeletal sky,
a structure begging for collapse.

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