| Dancing Bear USA Editor-in-Chief, Disquieting Muses
Against Circe he said it was cruel
and set out to free them
even as they became strips
and chops and flanks
they followed the smell
of bacon in a black pan
the luring song of sizzling
diving overboard to swim
the fashioned meathook
like fish they would hang
while she dreamed them
dressed in bread
or with a strong side
dish perhaps a few eggs
stolen from a farmer
each would offer up
their hips bending over
in the old fashion way
with hopes of her carving
pleasure - mouth
watering or otherwise
what it came down to was
she craved the taste of meat
and he needed the muscle
Dream of an Aftermath though the city is war-torn it is the tear in the ceiling which concerns you outside these broken beams this crumbling plaster might be the cry of a child surely the bark of a dog the streets between black-eyed buildings ache like old scars retraced with a knife if there was a fountain here one which might have had a statue --some forgotten god-- it would keep this city's pain there is too much bad silence here gone from the air are train whistles and barge horns the drifting beats of a nightclub the engine of a patrolling tank the city is as foreign as a refugee you wait in imperfect stillness for sniper fire or the landmine buried in earth waiting for Spring from that wound in your roof the motherless moon has entered this room your skin so blue it is almost real Like Bacchus in America he has a feeling for emptying separating the flesh from the husk blood juice spraying in gorgeous arcs across the sanguine dusk drunk on the pleasure of shucking sucks deep and long this night licked by the tongues of firelight each shadow presents itself as the artist formally known as volcanoes of laughter erupting predictable as geysers here young maidens dance with the taste of apples on their lips he loves the music of backs bending the extended season of hollywood parties producers directors actors dance bending in the old fashioned way leaning into couches and high backed chairs harvesting with stained hands in the giddy flickering celluloid Social Dynamics his words were like shovels
digging a mass grave
some of us looked away
others used filters
perhaps a different decoder
turning blood to rose
now someone speaks a paintbrush Tom Sawyer utters his word "fun" other voices paint a defense for the indefensible someone argued
loopholes for forgiveness
the shovels were only tools after all
one is reminded of snow
a natural whitewashing
if only a half a year
a bomb could be dropped
to prolong the image
so paint becomes ash and in the mixing more holes are required Letterhead Spring morning - late for work and just outside his building he sees it, writhing small and dark against concrete. Desperate chirping at every noise. He scoops the baby bird into his hands cupped hands. Pushes the door open with his body. Anybody got a box or something? Cindy pulls out a gray stripped box, Will this do? He sets the baby inside of it. His boss comes by and looks inside, You better take it to the vet or something. Billy smiles and says thanks. Walks the bird three blocks to a vet. Where a tight faced assistant says, We can't take anymore - we've had five so far today. Billy gets a knot in his stomach, I can't just let the little guy die. A tired man sticks his bald head out and says, wait there for a moment. The bird requires feeding every 4 hours. Eyedroppers of water-soaked dry cat food lovingly stuffed down its beak. Just before work. Comes home at lunch. And again after work. Calls it "Letterhead" because that's what it says on his box. It grows to ride around on Billy's shoulder. Moves to eating bird seed and flapping its wings to fly to a chair or curtain rod then back to him. A little black bird. In the first weeks of summer, he took Letterhead to the park to let it fly. The first two days it went off but returned to sit on his shoulder. On the third day it left and Billy waited a long time in the park. Even though he had brought it here to set it free, a selfish part of him began to cry. dolphin girl Last night I dreamed of a dolphin girl she swam like shadows under blue water I slipped my hand beneath the dancing moons and to my wishes she slid under me an elegant reality of love Dream of Rain the sky fills with a desire to rain all night I laid in a paper cup afraid to wake up floating away each day the clouds come a weatherman smiles maniacally into my living room with a promise of depression somewhere crazy indians who have lived behind fences for too long danced months without sleep their ankles swollen with rain heads bowed in lightning exertion their bony chins drip perspiration the rain strikes the drumskin of my roof and I want to drive into the desert grab my cousins by their shoulders shake them free of the rain dream so they look at me with eyes that gleam as weathermen do and they say in disbelief of me rain to cleanse I envision my terrible city and begin to dance Dream of a Blackbird Calling night rests its wings outside my window makes a noise like traffic and trains I hear it rustle feathers as leaves feel it blinking into my room its watchful eye waits for me to rise to go into it and be it I stay still till it flies away afraid of what I might become © All Copyright, 2000,
Dancing Bear. |
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