"My mightiest flights of poesy have / no power to conjure the slightest of her curves...

May 19, 2006

What the Raven Said

(After Steve Roberts' "Eye Blood")

Oy mate, see that?
Naw , just joshin' yer;
You're dead, an 'sides,
I've got yer eye.

The ropey bit, that there's
the optic nerve. Part of the brain,
that is, ter get technical.
Bit gristly. But loads better'n
nose, any day of the week. 'Scuse me.

[empty socket stares back up at
an eye like a bead of black mercury,
as it cocks its head and bites
into the ripe globe of flesh,
chews the globular muscle and swallows
it nearly whole in a gagging motion
of its throat, eye jelly
rolling down the beak...]

Vitreous Humour, mack. Not
"eye jelly." Light of the body,
the eye is; an' lights is good eats.
They used to think the last thing
you saw was burned like a dagguereotype
on the back of the eye, but I know
you never saw the one with your name on it.
Ought ter ask old Hummin and Mummin 'bout
that one. You know, Memory and Thought,
hang out with that old one-eyed bugger
they hung on that tree...

...Me, I was never one for coming back.
Old man Noah let me off that boat,
I was gone daddy gone. You want pigeons
for something like that. Anyway,
thanks for the chat, pal, and lunch.
See ya in the funny papers, pal,
if I don't see you first.

May 15, 2006

Sticky Renga

like silk-trail merchants,
a caravan of ants treks
across the child's face

the lollipop rod now lies
face-down in the wood shavings

how did the june-bug
single out my windshield
in a world of cars?

how did the cat cross the road?
see that spot on the asphalt?

Renga Bitters

saucers stacked on the stove
(the sink is already full)
stubbled with brown mold

dishwater, rancid flotsam
settling on the drain like silt

still has his boots on,
and no pillow for his head--
but piles of laundry!

dreams bubbling up through the black
tar pits of hungover sleep

moist socks and sneakers--
rich earthy exhalations
from their snoring tongues

even the skin mites grumbling,
"ach, it's sunday, let's sleep in."