Monday, April 5, 2010

It was along a river that I never heard

"There are varied responses to the process of
socialization. Many acquiesce and replicate
with their children what their parents did to them.
Others do not. In clinical observation, we can oscillate
the difference."

Thorsten Heisendykker, The Bland Mirror of the Medusa Ego

i. Once more, into that pesky garden

Prickly troubled being burst forth again
along the newly spaded furrow of jaded roses,
often bubbly wrapped as a hapless thorny stem
against the rubber boots of a tame green calf,
often pitched by the sleeping wight of life
or the soiling dreams of ever-blooming black:
yikes! the concrete square is so sweaty rich
with the capillary dew of bloody aspiration.

In the swampy mist a hunkered rail
quakes in mirth as the banshees wail:

a two-clawed braid of mossy twist
with elbows blue towards bluer sky
in a heathen dance of heathered mists.

And so it ends and so it begins.

ii. Climb every anthill until you reach

From the violet calm of my omega
I saw the alpha swirl of contenders
dissipate and cease to snarl at rivals.

I had a chartreuse tiffin with twin black straps
and a plastic zipper that never stuck
to carry fruits and nuts and yogurt:

persimmons and clementines mostly,
an occasional prickly pear-
blanched almonds and pistachios,
savory with the salt of the sea.

I watched your reflection
but the sun came out
and you went in
squeaking a hinge behind,


I parked my aqua truck in a narrow space
and solved the white brick puzzle.

Cutting the deck with every breath,
was it brave, then, to draw another?

I spun with the cirrus in a fulcrum of air,
I spun with the mud that had clumped in your hair,
I spun and my eyes were white and nowhere.

And spun and spun, spun again.

1 comment:

Francis Scudellari said...

Spinning along I'm left a little dizzy. This was quite the interesting an twisty journey. I particularly like the depiction of the rail, and the tiffin, and the hinge ... and pretty much everything.