All of bloomingdale was silent as a mouse hiding somewhere shivering in a dark
A hungry puss-puss-pussywillow shaking in the cold night air
every nerve liquid and alert, every moment eternal
And i’ve heard the lights called bubblegum
Making my venetian blinds pinball like christmas
But i aint never chewed no bubblegum like that
A song of every kind of violence;
imprisonment, institutionalization, brutal sudden death,
torment, tazers, oc spray, dog bites,broken bones, bigirons, theft of everything you’ve ever dreamed for, theft even of your dreams themselves,
strangulation, pugilism, tears, trouble with a capital T
Like a hornets nest disturbed, come their endless numbers
Bringing gifts;
Bruises (like a tomato), glittering clicky hell handle handcuffs, strategy and training, unbelievably swift armored force, indomitable muscle, beautifully articulate pain compliance holds, neutralization, the loud shouts of command, the swift wolves of the night
Trickling down like dark distillate
Drip drops of adrenal, so scented,
And in the back, hurried phone calls black
Now gossamer these furtive things as vivid as velvet
letters getting farther apart, trickling down into
Dry brittle memory collapsing
And fading
Wires crossed at a bad time
The streets were blocked, both ends
In comes an ambulance, screaming
Five or six plain wrappers
A hell of a way to start december.
Do you remember the winter star in the east
Here I am my whole brain a milkshake, hoop snakes rolling down hill strewing matchsticks
And ash.
but even to dream is to be aware
And to be aware is to behold
to observe a self
a universe
a universe of senses senseless, confounding and absurd
and to know this critical absence of void
it is to stand dumbfounded, perchance to laugh
to laugh is then only madness
but there is some pleasure in such as this
pleasure that is absurd and fleeting
but to behold the perfection of what’s left
A gilded arrow, a broken cage
is to see sometimes
what graces us with its gentle hand
of special joy touching our soul
to know for a moment what we can know
and this joy is inseperable
inseperable from love
and this becomes a part of who we are
forever ourself
and this love is then inseperable
and this love is my God.
I am December and December is me.
I like it.
Poetry