While taking a walk
this warm summer’s eve,
I happened upon
a sight rare to see.
As I gazed, transfixed,
at the bloom of a rose,
my eyes shifted right
and my feet nearly froze.
Two graceful curves,
descending in pointed tips,
a tuft of mown grass
lingering still on your lips,
Confused, I called out
to the man by his car –
“Do you know there’s a goat
roaming in your backyard?!”
–after Christopher Smart
In praise of you, seen never in time to dance away from, to sidestep,
the surprise of you always a surprise.
In praise of you who bring us out of past or future or dream and plants us
squarely and immediately into the present of now.
In praise of you who cause reaction in our bodies- Lyme, West Nile,
malaria, bubonic plague- and teach us humility.
In praise of you who make us Jesus, you feast on our body
and this is your last supper.
How you shape the human world, a reminder how small
power can be. In praise of you, I spray.
“What does it matter how many lovers you have if none of them gives you the universe?”
“But what Freud showed us… was that nothing can be grasped, destroyed, or burnt, except in a symbolic way,
as one says, in effigie, in absentia.”
Jacques Lacan
……………………………………………………..
As the page had turned
The needle dropped on side B
A single thought sang
When reading Lacan,
She was aware of her own
Annihilation
Structural blueprints
The unconscious fantasy,
Is structured desire
The Broom closet was
Always bad faith, this she knew
Mirror stage moments
Construct of the self
Imaginary portrait
Of identity
When her leather-bound
Book of shadows was opened
Her rites became whole
Yet others cursed
Håxa as a heretic
Set for a fires stake
As a passing thought
Of manifest destiny
Drifted through her mind
She smiled at the mob,
As flames chared her flesh, ashen
Smoke burned in her lungs
Content with her choice
Knowing bad faith is not living life
As Sartre has said
……………………………………………………………….
“La vie humaine commence de l’autre côté du désespoir”
Jean-Paul Sartre
The rainbow does not taste like skittles
Too saccharine
Too artificial
Branded with every bite
I want to trivialize my words
so they aren’t so
vulnerable
“You love me?
That’s gay.”
But I pulled my own ribs
open
to let you cradle my heart.
there was this boy
that had a good voice
and enough moves
to sell
a good Elvis impression
that our teacher loved
so much
that she’d make him do it
while other teachers stood
at the door with their smiles
that made me wonder what
I could do to get something
like that
but he wasn’t good
at hiding absent but here
parent anger like the rest
of us lost and dirty and tired
so when Mrs. E
pushed his buttons
too
hard
he told her to fuck off
and she didn’t stop smiling
when he walked out of class
nor did she stop when he
passed by the window
walking home
the bus picked him up later
I’m just glad to know
she’s gone
and he’s still here
because with people
like us
it’s easy
to find a reason
to check out
one way
or another
I hear the distant whistle of an approaching train
and I think of movement
Moving people
moving goods
moving people as goods
Across this vast country
Marking time and space
I’ll never write a train poem like Hayden
or actualize the metaphor like Whitehead
But I hear the whistle of an approaching train
and I think of hot summer nights
and police whistles echoing through public squares
where people were sold as goods
Across this vast country
Dogs and guns trained on the public
Re-training hate still leaves you with hate
further down the track
I hear the whistle of an approaching train
And I can’t tell which way it’s coming from
or which way it’s going
Because it is so loud it seems to be coming from and going to
everywhere at once
But I hear the whistle of an approaching train
and I think of movements
Splendid five tool players of the morning sun
noon time tacos because the game is won
one bright shoulder of brilliant hue
leaning on the deck of Gordy Chew’s
her floral slip and sunglasses of victory
his shoes and his hair tied in with history
conversational prowess and sleight of hand
refined tastes but judgement sans
the fortune is dazzling and the bodies able
cooler than lemonade set on the table
none of it is borrowed and all of it is earned
something developed that you haven’t learned
mountains and forests of laughter and morals
familial dedication and pruned cherry laurels
shiny golden dots strung out on the tide
composing divine verse on the backside
coupes and convertibles loose with the throttle
palm grip tight on glass Klein bottles
spectrum of tiding searchlights in the air
all of it maddening and all of it fair
here comes the waiter serving with glee
dessert celebration and tipped to the tee
The weightless morning,
The anthropoid hour.
The scattered bodies,
Lie about the home.
Tethered by untouched ideology,
Limited by the idea that it, is them.
From a window,
Encircled by black.
A bird flies,
From a firm treeline.
Tearing the world,
Into manageable pieces.
From the bed,
The anthropoid stirs.
Not quite an idea,
But a drifting bird.
