SITUATION NORMAL If I could turn my belly inside out, I’d write a poem for you, And hope lime-crusted Angels could get together A story that is all about Me--this red-headed snafu You’ve met--rusted And lighter than a three-pound feather. Blood seems so much more real To me than lotion or shampoo-- I’d like to see mine, Wear it on my throat, And rollerblade until My ribs poke through December air and shine Like furies through my silver coat. I’m not afraid of Armageddon--I hold It now between my cheek and tongue-- A fast and vast And syrup-coated trip To hell and back to fold My glittered laundry--hung all around the bath- Room like faery jewels. The tiles slip.
LONDON O, for shame! We buy the lights And choose to Play the game Of British cards, Of Indian Roulette-- And faery bites Reward The ones who get To play. Nerves and necklines Snap like pretzel sticks-- Teeth and metal meet With baby clicks (And pretty clacks). The neon signs Are soaking up the day, And perfumed hands Are breaking dainty backs.
BODY SONG i see the satin head of the one who asks. memory freezes black lashes glued on O-mouthed masks, and i imagine grape-hued curtains in the window. my eyes are full and i can hardly hear the din, though it whirls about my head and my shoulders melt under glass. i shimmer past the moving view through hunter grass, descending over aquariums of my wrists, swaying with the pretty blue and silver fish with glitter eyes. they control the gentle drooping of my head. my arms are heavy and spiced clouds absorb the dreams above my bed.
SCONES & CREAM I am not a monk. I have particular use for rubber bands, no strings attached. The idea that I’m a puma-- who thought of that? I may be feline, but I am not a puma--has been disputed. I would marry Thoreau if he were alive. If you frighten me, don’t do it on Tuesdays. For myself, I prefer agitated Mondays, and I need a day to recover. Do you want to know about me? Talk to me through a tiny hole, please. I will die with my shoes on.
PUNCTUATION MARKS I asked God Where he was, And he said, “I’m here.” Odd, Because My bed Turned blue; fear Gripped my shoulders From behind. I put the scissors To my vein. Cold verse Is kind And underscores My brain.
FISHFRY A is for Adam: The Orange Juice King With a curious Craving For fish; The Six-sided cube who Spoke African-French Through A bite of his favorite dish. And me With a pound In my pocket, transported Around The cook- Room like so many Groceries. He offered me Magic pop-pills from the Queen Honey-Bee, And took My cold hands From the icebox Without my permission While raindrops Began to fall. The fish in the pan Always sizzling; Its eyes blazing up Through the drizzling. I put up my wall.
BOILING THE PIG POTATOES My eyes drop down below me From the moonlit fell. I wonder what old stories This Welsh farmyard has to tell, And what old goblins still Are lurking out there in the gloom-- What ancient bonfires might Catch spark and loom Again for measured moments Out beyond the fields. Beneath Orion’s belt Imagination yields A host of dark, uncanny things. Then up against the barn My shadow moves with angel wings.
LOGIC If the deck Is in my hands, I’ll need a tiara, Please. (Did I dream A gilded Canine Breathing blue?) A speck Of tact demands A Winter aura-- “Freeze!” And it may seem As though I willed it-- Which is fine, For wolves like you. It has become My habit-- Clever thing-- To smile a lot Inside my igloo; Play with fire in fog And rant Because it gleams. And I may run-- Being a rabbit-- Yet admitting That I kiss when I am caught. But it’s you-- The Grinning Dog-- The only constant In my cabbage-headed dreams.
PASSPORT The only train I took from Paris (The grey of the Seine In the back of my head) Took me north, To London--home. (March twenty-third, twenty-fourth Twenty-fifth ... My hair is In cat-ears) I said, “I won’t think about Rome.” It’s a risk. The best thing about France (I never wore my hat) Is it’s timezone--chance Brought me south of the bitter Cold. Almost closer ... but There. (The skies Out the window are dark) What I need I distort. It’s not that (Glitter All around my eyes) I don’t have a passport.