Dionissios Kollias πŸ”ˆ


Found: a gold square
with a centered gold flower.

The red eye, dangerous for the island,
hits against the chest with each abrupt movement.

The energy: loud.

Like the north winds
measured daily, spoken about and spoken to.

And that’s when I followed the white painted designs on the road, towards the rose marks on the walls, climbed towards the small blanket embroidered with an Aegean dolphin.

A tourist asked for a discount from the innkeeper after sleeping with him.

What separated the family keeps the ghosts of the pirates from coming ashore.

Everyone waited for each other now in the tavern, staring forward.

I’m told to take off my clothes.

The women here outlive any tree planted.
All is held with a gold chain and daylight
which measures the weight of a lung,
the consumed exoskeleton.

On the mountain, we opened one wooden gate.

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About the Author

Dionissios Kollias' work has appeared in No Dear Magazine, Pinwheel, Raleigh Review, and elsewhere. He lives in New York.