The scar model
To give him another try.
Even before my fifth nose,
swelled with silicone
father's advice. The half-
Moon under her chin splits the scar
bleeding tongue, crows feet walk out
From her eyes, her clitoris going
Into labor, my
The plank of her abdomen. The beauty
potato-head, genuflected pain
Somewhere or anywhere, is self-willed
As the horse's
torso that crushed her face.
The first time I watched her slice open an Irish wolfhound, to remove a green
argyle sock from the intestines, she articulated the beauty of the red and grey
tubes. A technician fainted. The dog lived to swallow other socks.
One night, lifting myself from her dead brother's sleeping bag, I drew her toe
into my mouth and suckled. Glub, glub, I cooed. At the risk of sounding
joyful, I whispered nothing. The risk in joy, she moaned, was loss. I found
more of her in my mouth.
When her dog fell off the Continental Divide and had to finally be rescued by
the Nederland Volunteer Fire Department, while the Forest Service rep took
pictures, she kept pushing him to the edge of pain, of utter collapse, to make
sure he was hurt. She had nearly flattened me, carelessly shoving a boulder
that lurched eastward at the last second.
better judgment, no one
Died this morning at my hands. The same
Massaging the ridge of another's nose.
through that last war:
Something about bare-armed American
elbow-deep in buckets of oil.
events of my life
Expect too much. I should be playing
under her foreskin.
I would rather
be hosing down funbags
Instead of proofing the Great American
We'll Buy You And All Your Mulish
Cheap. For The Price
Of An Apostrophe. And I would still kill
sake of punctuation, for the completion
Of the clause.
I am so worried, I might fall asleep.
The current event of the world begs
Of stabilization, as if peace, love and understanding,
primordial soup, could explain everything.
But who can discern two muscles
Within a single throat, angling for any one
Of a jillion
grunts? Who can pronounce
Agreement between the lovers?
leaps faithfully into the blind attic.
The way they taught my father to speak: a major sat up front with a can of
rocks, shook it to accentuate every "er," "ah." I pause in
front of classes, so often speechless, that a song bursts in my head: I've got
a bowl full of noses at my door... She has a face the Lilliputian ski team
could train on.
In this picture, my dog leaps wildly over a fence, the wind blowing his lips
back into a smile, as if to say: I was stupefied, and my hair stood on end, and
my voice stuck to my throat. But his word is his action, running oratory over
the dung fields.
A family cries
in her clinic.
A dog, kicked blind by children,
Will be euthanized. I
Him to death
and be remembered
For my kindness. I will say little
So they may hear
as they wish.
accuses the father.
The dog lies low. The father
Asks if its death
will take long.
A child with
blood on his shins
Comforts a dying dog, a pet
Already in memory,
already cared for.
When I draw my tongue from the tip of her anus to her belly button, I learn a
familiar topographical lesson again: to be. Not a mocking bird, a mere
Shakespeare, but a bee. Among the busy elements of a life living itself out.
The heavy boots on Tobacco Road.
From down the alley, dozens of cheerleaders rattle words against the window, I
can't quite make out: Self-loathing! At all costs, self-loathing! I'm not in
such a bad mood. The neighbors have left, I don't own a cannon. And when the
stars fall en masse, I reckon my soul an obedient place, filled with wordless
slaves pouring buckets into the well, a fire distending each stomach. Perhaps
the cheerleaders suffer, girls kicking high their legs, mouths snapping like
traps. They would see the sky but for their own enthusiastic toes. They break
morning like songbirds escaping the pull of wings. In what heaven wouldn't a
train of teenage girls answer the breeze in unison: Cords of Wood!
Chop-chop-chop! That's how they do it in Aurora! For an hour now, I've been
waiting for the sun to set, so I can stand outside without my sunglasses and
glare into my reflection in a window: a flattened penny any boy would admire
and give to his true love.
How did that
I'm going to stop wasting my time.
Somebody else would
have broken both of her arms.
Terpsichorean wind tonight, the grace
of departure tending our lives, the
dance into your heart-how my tongue, effervescent
of Woolworth's, hushes. A fountain
of Christmas lights floods the city, I
gush to kiss
you back against a wall, to, genuflecting, transcend
my mouth with
you. I want hunger. When we transcend
the green-gold value of lust, I
Anyway, the warm-colored sky, effervescent
with snow, continues to steam
over our view. This airplane beelining like
to beyondness, snow resolving to splinter like a fountain.
A man sitting
next to me warms up, fountaining
sweat and opinions. A suit transcends
all boundaries. Fashion sodomy: polyester kissing
rayon, prints buggering
plaids. Where in grace
can my eyes refuse this slaughter? Commitment
to the point of being committed. I love the steam
hair, the formless ambition of steam.