“Invocation” by Robert Carr

Invocation

Rest in the cradle of unspoken beds, no finger or hand of a stranger inside you, 
no hide of sacred cow for your sling, no salt of golden showers, no pig roast 

or chains of Marley, thrust shaken. Live this one day in containment, complete, 
body and mind released from the flesh you are not. Reclaim eyes from your father,

set your toe in the crack of the bathhouse floor, always a gap in that shrine. Transcend
the pierced tongue, pierced nipple, pierced frenulum. Break the club’s red exit 

light. Moisten lips, speak to spirit, close your mouth, tighten anus, brighten this 
dungeon with god glow. Gather funk, collect sweat, fashion angels 

stinking of sea. Transform into selkie, swim toward dawn. Float, without hunger 
or yearning for others. Release the infinite ocean of thirst you have swallowed.




Originally published by Under a Warm Green Linden

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Audio: Robert Carr reads “Invocation”

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Robert Carr is a Maine-based author of five collections of poetry, most recently, Blue Memento (Lily Poetry Review Books, 2025) and Phallus Sprouting Leaves, winner of the 2024 Rane Arroyo Chapbook Series (Seven Kitchens Press). Robert’s work has appeared in many journals and magazines including The Greensboro Review, The Massachusetts Review, The Seneca Review and Shenandoah. Recent recognition includes the 2026 Bates College Storme DeLarverie Award for Advocacy and Engagement

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