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  • Untitled Document

    Black Matter


    Even the Milky Way is white

    don’t you know? We were warned

    by the big book of the whale


    humpbacked, pale cenotaphs,

    and gated communities, our world

    and the outer boughs of the verse,


    cordoned off by black matter.

    And without its blackness

    You know, there wouldn’t be

    so much milk after all.


    Our union is not indivisible

    don’t you know? It is dependent

    on energy we cannot see

    but know it’s there because we are


    Don’t you know?


    I hope that where I go

    there is no Milky Way.

    I want to swim in oceans

    empty of light, black as verse


    where I can undo all I know

    and be like deep oceanic

    spaces full of black matter

    Dark energy, no know, just lee.





    The Old Cat



    More a mass

    than anything,

    I took the old cat

    to its designated

    place of rest




    a bridge of stone

    built late in

    the nineteenth

    century, observing

    Highland Park and

    a dirt path for skinny


    rain water. No true river

    ran beneath its crown.

    The bellows of homeless

    leviathans, cradling a

    thinning flame, knelling embers,

    chiaroscuroing curved shadows

    on the zenith of stones: kitty heaven.



    The old cat showed signs the night before

    stumbling in and out of existence

    reaching for a final touch.



    I made a casket of his little

    traveling cage, comfortably patted

    with his favorite sheet and toys,

    a bit of catnip, made-ready like a great

    Mau of the River Nile.



    The old bridge reminds me of something

    long dead. Its dark underbelly, bulging dirt floors,

    the occasional bottles of Colt-45 lying beside themselves.


    Predial florae, empty of import

    the wind sometimes caresses


    About The Author

    Ayendy Bonafacio

    Ayendy Bonifacio is an English PhD student at The Ohio State University with a focus on nineteenth-century periodical culture and poetry.  Mr. Bonifacio teaches poetry and writing composition to undergraduates and practices photography part-time. His poems and book reviews have been featured and are forthcoming in The Journal: A Literary Magazine, The Olivetree Review, The Rocky Mountain Review, Qué Pasa, OSU, The Syzygy Poetry Journal, Odd Ball Poetry Magazine, and recently in Juked Poetry.