Hunter Is the Night: Poetry

By Kozi Nasi

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.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Dec 11, 2014
• ISBN: 9781491752173

Kozi Nasi

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

Book preview

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