And cursing the mist and the potholes.
In the Street
He was kneeling down to tie his shoes, which she mistook for a proposal of marriage.
—Arise, arise, sweet man, she said with tears glistening in her eyes while people hurried past them as if stung by bees.
—We shall spend the day riding in a balloon, she announced happily.
—My ears will pop, he objected.
—We’ll throw our clothes overboard as we rise higher and higher.
—My cigar that may sputter and cause fireworks.
—Don’t worry, my love—she hugged him—even where the clouds are darkest, I have a secret getaway.
Filthy Landscape
The season of lurid wildflowers
Sprawled shamelessly over the meadows,
Drunk with necking and kissing
Every hot breeze that comes along.
A small stream opens its legs
In the half-undressed orchard
Teeming with foulmouthed birds
And swarms of smutty fruit flies
In scandalous view of a hilltop
Wrapped in pink clouds of debauchery.
The sun peeking between them,
Now and then like a whoremaster.
Prison Guards Silhouetted Against the Sky
I never gave them a thought. Years had gone by.
Many years. I had plenty of other things
To worry about. Today I was in the dentist’s chair
When his new assistant walked in
Pretending not to recognize me in the slightest
As I opened my mouth most obediently.
We were necking in some bushes by the riverbank,
And I wanted her to slip off her bra.
The sky was darkening, there was thunder
When she finally did, so that the first large
Raindrop wet one of her brown nipples.
That was nicer than what she did to my mouth now,
While I winced, while I waited for a wink,
A burst of laughter at the memory of the two of us
Buttoning ourselves, running drenched
Past the state prison with its armed guards
Silhouetted in their towers against the sky.
Jackstraws
My shadow and your shadow on the wall
Caught with arms raised
In display of exaggerated alarm,
Now that even a whisper, even a breath
Will upset the remaining straws
Still standing on the table
In the circle of yellow lamplight,
These few roof beams and columns
Of what could be a Mogul Emperor’s palace.
The Prince chews his long nails,
The Princess lowers her green eyelids.
They both smoke too much,
Never go to bed before daybreak.
School for Visionaries
The teacher sits with eyes closed.
When you play chess alone it’s always your move.
I’m in the last row with a firefly in the palm of my hand.
The girl with red braids, who saw the girl with red braids?
•
Do you believe in something truer than truth?
Do you prick your ears even when you know damn well no one is coming?
Does that explain the lines on your forehead?
Your invisible friend, what happened to her?
•
The rushing wind slides to a stop to listen.
The prisoner opens the thick dictionary lying on his knees.
The floor is cold and his feet are bare.
A chew toy of the gods, is that him?
Do you stare and stare at every black windowpane
As if it were a photo of your unsmiling parents?
Are you homesick for the house of cards?
The sad late-night cough, is it yours?
Ambiguity’s Wedding
for E. D.
Bride of Awe, all that’s left for us
Are vestiges of a feast table,
Levitating champagne glasses
In the hands of the erased millions.
Mr. So-and-So, the bridegroom
Of absent looks, lost looks,
The pale reporter from the awful doors
Before our identity was leased.
At night’s delicious close,
A few avatars of mystery still about,
The spider at his trade,
The print of his vermilion foot on my hand.
A faded woman in sallow dress
Gravely smudged, her shadow on the wall
Becoming visible, a wintry shadow
Quieter than sleep.
Soul, take thy risk.
There where your words and thoughts
Come to a stop,
Encipher me thus, in marriage.
Ancient Divinities
They dish out the usual excuses to one another:
Don’t forget, darling, we saw it coming.
The new rationality inspired by geometry
Was going to do us in eventually. Being immortal
Was not worth the price we paid in ridicule.
I feel like I’ve been wearing a cowbell
Around my neck for two thousand years,
Says one with a shoulder-length blond wig
Raising a champagne glass to her lips
And acknowledging me at the next table,
While at her elbow, next to a napkin
Bloodied by her lipstick, I saw a fly crawling
Out of her overflowing ashtray
Like some poor Trojan or Greek soldier
Who’s had enough of wars and their poets.
Obscurely Occupied
You are the Lord of the maimed,
The one bled and crucified
In a cellar of some prison
Over which the day is breaking.
You inspect the latest refinements
Of cruelty. You may even kneel
Down in wonder. They know
Their business, these grim fellows
Whose wives and mothers rise
For the early Mass. You, yourself,
Must hurry back through the snow
Before they find your rightful
Place on the cross vacated,
The few candles burning higher
In your terrifying absence
Under the darkly magnified dome.
Head of a Doll
Whose demon are you,
Whose god? I asked
Of the painted mouth
Half buried in the sand.
A brooding gull
Made a brief assessment,
And tiptoed away
Nodding to himself.
At dusk a firefly or two
Dowsed its eye pits.
And later, toward midnight,
I even heard mice.
On the Meadow
With the wind gusting so wildly,
So unpredictably,
I’m willing to bet one or two ants
May have tumbled on their backs
As we sit here on the porch.
Their feet are pedaling
Imaginary bicycles.
It’s a battle of wits against
Various physical laws,
Plus Fate, plus—
So-what-else-is-new?
Wondering if anyone’s coming to their aid
Bringing cake crumbs,
Miniature editions of the Bible,
A lost thread or two
Cleverly tied end to end.
Empty Rocking Chair
Talking to yourself on the front porch
As the night blew in
Cold and starless.
Everybody’s in harm’s way,
I heard you say,
While a caterpillar squirmed
And oozed a pool of black liquid
At your feet.
You
turned that notion
Over and over
Until your false teeth
Clamped shut.
Three Photographs
I could’ve been that kid
In the old high school photograph
I found in a junk shop,
His guileless face circled in black.
In another, there was a view of Brooklyn Bridge
And a tenement roof with pigeons flying
And boys with long poles
Reaching after them into the stormy sky.
In the third, I saw an old man kneeling
With a mouth full of pins
Before a tall, headless woman in white.
I had no money and it was closing time.
I was feeling my way uncertainly
Toward the exit in the evening darkness.
The Toy
The brightly painted horse
Had a boy’s face,
And four small wheels
Under his feet,
Plus a long string
To pull him this way and that
Across the floor,
Should you care to.
A string in waiting
That slipped away
With many wiles
From each and every try.
•
Knock and they’ll answer,
My mother told me,
So I climbed the four flights
And went in unannounced.
And found the small toy horse
For the taking.
In the ensuing emptiness
And the fading daylight
That still gives me a shudder
As if I held in my hand
The key to mysteries.
•
Where is the Lost and Found
And the quiet entry,
The undeveloped film
Of the few clear moments
Of our blurred lives?
Where’s the drop of blood
And the tiny nail
That pricked my finger
As I bent down to touch the toy,
And caught its eye?
•
Wintry light,
My memories are
Steep stairwells
In dusty buildings
On dead-end streets,
Where I talk to the walls
And closed doors
As if they understood me.
The wooden toy sitting pretty.
No quieter than that.
Like the sound of eyebrows
Raised by a villain
In a silent movie.
Psst, someone said behind my back.
Talking to the Ceiling
1
The moths rustle the pages of evening papers.
A beautiful sleepwalker terrorizes a small town in Kansas.
I was snooping on myself, pointing a long finger.
In my youth, boys used to light farts in the dark.
Whose angel wings are that? the cop asked me.
If only I had the instruments for a one-man band
I’d keep the Grim Reaper laughing all the way home.
Oh to press a chimney to my heart on a night like this!
2
Madame Zaza, come to think of it, stays open late.
Go ahead and cut the cards with your eyes closed.
Hangman’s convention: ropemaker’s workshop.
A hundred horror films were playing in my head.
Mister, would these shoes look good in my coffin? I asked.
Next time, I’ll go beddie-bye on a ghost ship.
Next time, I’ll befriend a few thimbleweeds
And roll across the Nevada desert as the sun sets.
3
Small-beer metaphysician, king of birdshit,
Coming down from the trees was our first mistake.
The insomniac’s brain is a choo-choo train
Dodging sleep like a master criminal was my only talent.
As for Virginia and her new red bikini,
I hear she’s been made the official match vendor
Of my dark night of the soul.
Unknown namesake in a roach hotel, go to sleep.
4
And whose exactly are these whispers in my ear?
The colonel on TV praised the use of torture.
He had a pair of eyes I once saw on a dragon riding
The merry-go-round in Texas with a bunch of kids!
The air is sultry, ice melts in a glass alongside a dead fly!
Is that Jesus turning up scared at my bedroom door
Asking to sleep in my old dog’s bed?
Selling sticks of gum door-to-door will be all our fate.
5
When I toss and turn and bump my head against the wall
I’m the first to profusely apologize.
That’s the way I’ve been brought up.
On the gallows, with a noose around my neck,
I’ll pass out cookies my mother made,
Lift the lid of my coffin to tip the gravediggers,
All because some girl thumbed her nose at me once.
O memory, making me get out to push the hearse!
6
There must be millions of zeros crowding for warmth
Inside my head and making it heavy.
St. John of the Cross and Blaise Pascal coming
With a pair of scales to check for themselves.
Every day, gents, I’m discovering serious new obstacles
To my guaranteed pursuit of happiness.
Naked truth you ought to see the boobs on her!
Here, throw my hat into the lion’s cage, I said.
7
What could be causing all this, Doctor?
The old blues, the kind you never lose.
I’m not just any flea on your ass,
I told God apropos of nothing earlier this evening.
Your future is your past, the rain sang softly
Like a scratchy record left to skip on a turntable.
Clock on the wall, have you at least once
Taken a sip of the wine eternity drinks?
Mystic Life
for Charles Wright
It’s like fishing in the dark.
Our thoughts are the hooks,
Our hearts the raw bait.
We cast the line past all believing
Into the night sky
Until it’s lost to sight.
The line’s long unraveling
Rising in our throats like a sigh.
•
One little thought
Leaping into the unthinkable,
Waving an imaginary saber,
Or perhaps a white flag?
The fly and the spider on the ceiling
Looking on in disbelief.
•
It takes a tiny nibble
From time to time
And sends a shiver
Down our spines.
Like hell it does!
•
New and Selected Poems Page 15
