Saturday, January 26, 2008

untitled


Hey, fellows, now that the O'Hare poems are posted, it's onward to new heights of glory in poetic form. I'm going to post about three untitled poems (they're from a series of mine) perhaps once a week, maybe twice. Who can say? Alright then, fun fun fun.


untitled 3992


I’m alone,

burning my teeth for cinder against

a pale

white radiator

in the southern heart of the city.

the river passes me

by in

window

cavalier.

the night steps on my face;

you say that the simple time of suffering

is raindrops down

a façade.

--

I believe that you have left your

body on that

pillowed bed

and have drifted into mercurial clouds

and have summoned thunder

upon my frame.

my house

is erect.

my mouth is ajar.

--

come on come

on over come

on out

I stand in puddles;

you have

stolen my face

and hidden it in the rosebush

beyond.



untitled 3008

the hallway buzzes in the rush of our trodden footsteps.

my black boots, your ruby laces, the hushed tongue and the rubber sole.

not

overtly sexual

candle

light

haunts us

.

we arch down the white walls and spy the little girl setting off to sleep.

she

prays,

“daddy please keep the house warm tonight,”

and hushes.

we

listen and turn around and run.

we are god. we forgot everyone.

the living room

window

shatters and our

bandit

blues carry

us

alone into the dim suburban

pathways

.

the little girl turns the light off and sleeps

heavy

in

her glossy green blanket.

a dog barks escape escape; moons flip over the horizon; lampposts bend; the curb bites and dizzies.

I fall over onto the lawn

and

she runs steady.


untitled 2854

high the high beams,

sawdust,

carpenters and their

red bucket

hats.

rivets, they spill

and the sky

is full for them.

I pump and steam.

the spirit of the twentieth century,

gravedigger,

atom bomb,

skyscraper,

homewrecker.

and fathers,

those men with rulers in their pockets,

listen for the drills,

the combines and the harvest,

the make and

the model.

I

see only so far.

the ocean

swallows everything.

the twenty first spirit

will

arrange differently.

it is waves of radio,

waves of light.

wash over us,

blessed god,

wash us over.

it is pure radiant heat that kills,

consumes, breaths,

and lives again.

1 comment:

kathryn said...

I miss our weekly poetry group.

Send me an exercise (list of words/topics), please.

PS when is Erin going to post something?