Month: August 2015

incision blues

they made short work of him,
tied him to a chair,
demanded
to know about his faith,
which was kind of like asking
a prisoner to defend the bars of his cell,
there,
tangible,
presenting limits,
nothing he ever asked for.
Several rooms away, the surgeons
spoke, masked, gesticulating with
abandon.
Things were coming to light,
and they’d soon be
exorcized.

something surgical 8.10

hey look

I found my face in the gutter last night,

it muttered something about

a lost race of unicorn
with attitudes, razors,
time enough to contemplate isometric.

We sensed there was something forbidden in this meeting.

And when the uniformed men came,
we wept as
they pulled us apart.

something surgical 8.6

the greatest lesson in poetry
I ever got
was in the old PS 89 schoolyard,
when they threw me into one of those

institutional dumpsters, you know
the kind with the sliding door
as opposed to a lid you propped open.

They would
open the door,
spit on me,
shut the door,

over and over
and there was this

mighty syncopation
to it,

the sliding metal coupled with
gathering and hurled
spittle,

(slide, splat, slide)

the thing took seed and
sprouted in my brain.

(slide, splat, slide)

These thirty years later
as I write these words,

I keep that steady beat in mind,

and hope in this small way,

you hear it too.

something surgical 8.5

as a dandelion ghost is wont to do

the day flies off

into

everything
nowhere
something more.

I will do it again regardless of preparation or any taste for it.

Look.

The tombs I erect are only sturdy to a point,

and I escape with fingertips torn

every damn time.

It might be a syndrome

but they haven’t

found a name for it yet.