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    Hunter Is the Night: Poetry
    Hunter Is the Night: Poetry
    Hunter Is the Night: Poetry
    Ebook136 pages48 minutes

    Hunter Is the Night: Poetry

    By Kozi Nasi

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    About this ebook

    In Hunter Is the Night, author Kozi Nasi presents her second collection of poetry, continuing on her path of storytelling through verse. These poetic episodes tell stories of her life, written with a mature voice and refined style, painting a wide range of emotional and spiritual states.

    In these deeply personal poems, Kozi does not shy away from vivid descriptions of intimate moments, pushing limits, putting her foot down, pointing her finger, and taking a stand to uphold her true feelings and principles. She portrays with ease the attentive lover, the close friend, the adoring granddaughter, the loyal partner in crime, the voice of reason, the seductress, the mother, the muse, the voyeur, and the self-critic with a flair for lessons learned.

    Hunter is the Night shares a bouquet of poems, cut and delivered fresh from Kozi Nasis garden of life stories old and new.

    TESTED Hanging by a single red hair from a very heavy cloud, humored by the thought of collisions being rather rare in the spacious sky; dont want to let go just yet, dont want to fall down, dont want to crash, the anticipated raindrop on the mouth of your grave.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisheriUniverse
    Release dateDec 11, 2014
    ISBN9781491752173
    Hunter Is the Night: Poetry
    Author

    Kozi Nasi

    Kozi Nasi loves and lives her life in the beautiful Garden State.

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      Book preview

      Hunter Is the Night - Kozi Nasi

      IT’S ME!

      The unforgettable, occasional migrant;

      the eluding, humble traveler;

      the well-behaved guest of the hidden, ravaged inn

      on the other side of the gloomy forest;

      the seductive wanderer that remembers the taste of your blood;

      the peaceful soul at your beck and call;

      the iridescent stream that gets you to feel life’s rush,

      where all the rivers flow and the deltas spill;

      the rare butterfly of your boredom

      that will forever return

      to color your unborn dreams.

      Leave the window open, beautiful stranger.

      I shall see you with every orange sunset

      and with every purple dawn in between.

      Gently I shall knock,

      casually I shall whistle,

      slowly I shall enter

      and tell you it’s me—

      it’s me!

      ALL

      I’ve done it all.

      I’ve lied,

      I’ve stolen,

      I’ve cheated,

      I’ve betrayed,

      I’ve robbed,

      I’ve delivered,

      I’ve bought,

      I’ve sold,

      I’ve taken,

      I’ve drank,

      I’ve cursed,

      I’ve perjured,

      I’ve murdered,

      all as a folded fetus.

      I did it all before I was born

      so I could get it out of my system

      and be good for the days outside the womb

      in the name of the life I was promised.

      No one cut the umbilical cord that fed me—

      the condemned wisdom of second chances.

      The cord is the cross around my neck

      that tightens more and more each time

      I see zombies chewing up the rotten system

      of the filthy outer-womb world.

      I did it all to remind myself

      of the sinful rainbow that overshadows

      the doomed adventure in search of perfection.

      I’ve done all imaginable bad as a prodigal fetus

      so I could only give love as a birthed human.

      FOR THE SAKE OF…

      For the sake of peace,

      I chose two perfectly ripe olives for eyes.

      As a special request from the shooting stars,

      they’ve been sparkling since.

      My peace smells my favorite shade of deep green.

      For the love of Marilyn,

      I became a redhead.

      It had to be red;

      the doctor gave up on coloring my blood.

      For the sake of the orange blossom,

      I sat under the apple tree;

      every bite hurt the beautiful mouth,

      but the taste was worth the longing

      for those heavenly scented little white flowers.

      For the sake of Warhol,

      I surrendered my body to pop art

      so everyone can eye the glass-box-displayed prototype.

      For the sake of unwritten lines,

      I remain naked.

      The flesh cannot breathe buried

      under layers of pseudolife

      waiting to be unclothed.

      For the sake of sushi,

      I am raw.

      It had to be raw—

      no chef can agree to the compromise

      of cooking my existence full of flavor and spice.

      For the sake of the road less traveled,

      I decided to grow wings,

      and suddenly, the world became smaller

      yet more interesting.

      For the sake of farewell,

      I crossed over the tracks, to the other side.

      Purple, tasted the point of no return,

      and for now, there I remain, stuck.

      For the sake of preserving my dreams,

      I go to bed with insomnia;

      for eyes, I shall only close them

      at that very last, final flame.

      For the sake of the shadow that forgot to show up,

      I blew sixty-nine stars one by one,

      lined them up in the shape of a spoon,

      and let them hold me to my sleep of death.

      For the sake of lust—as the undead sea

      and love—as my witness,

      I shall float in my daily potion of delirium

      till the day I decide to part

      for the sake of another life,

      where a new destination

      patiently waits to eternally gift my soul.

      COORDINATES

      Each morning I open my eyes

      I get one new shot at doing this all over again.

      Each morning I climb thirty-nine steep steps

      to make it to the Everest of my existence

      and holler at God to check in.

      I cannot take for granted the Darwinian parameters I am given.

      For a girl who hates numbers,

      I love my coordinates.

      But as my coordinates have it,

      depth always

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