Matina Stamatakis


On Finite Probabilities

As with some tiny pulse

the night feeds into

the kept stars, to keep behind a door

wind & its dust-swept

           as a game of boundaries

for the body──

  the way mobility

as a shape

is all muscle

           & limit of muscles

is the shape

of an open mouth

              too taut

to swallow the sky



It is the swarming in the wax──

as my skin knows it is inevitable rupture

& searches for the scent of a madhouse

where all men go to the gallows

but not before begging

for the sweat of a final woman



& pardon the texture
 of imperfections

the spinning of an unsteady

──color of teeth
& their naked bite

             pardon her face
& the breakable cracks of silence

[color of sand dollars
on lamp-lit lands]

holding within the silence
a soft circle, pale girl


The Small of Things

is in the eyes
& much harder to break──
should overwhelm the finch
─should, by design, leave behind
ghost evidence─ shadow
of erasure, blood vessel,
chrysanthemum spit

Matina L. Stamatakis currently resides in upstate New York. She has had works featured in Barzakh, Free Verse, Inertia, Sugar Mule, and many others. She is the author of Metempsychose (Ypolita, 2009), and co-author of The ChongDong Misfits (Avantexte Press, 2011)