A new teenage mustache, almost apologetic,
two smudges of blond and a bald spot under his nose.
He rummages for a razor. Shaving cream congeals around the drain.
A stroke. A cool, clean lip. Ink-through-a-tissue blood, clotting.
A quick glance into the soap-scummed mirror, he smiles,
embarrassed and terrified.
He smashes a tissue to the space between his lip and his nose,
dots of blood filling in the ungainly space between boyhood and not.
His hands, trembling, are too big now, his head, feet, voice. Baby-faced
and crooning like a foghorn, deep but treble-cleffed.
He races on, suddenly impatient, whisks the shaving cream from his face
like milk and plays with the little kids;
shrinks away, too, though,
staring
three feet in front of him, where all
present uncomfort seems to cast out past pain. He touches
the spiky hairs,
checking a bruise. It hurts. To be a man,
he thinks, he'll use his big brother's Schick. He needs him to notice
his roughening, these strands itching downward
constantly, like fingernails.
Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Monday, June 4, 2012
Road Songs and American Sonnets--the South
Green country
waving hills of green gnarled oaks
rolling under waves of grey clouds
into the dusky horizon
turning blue
pressed close by these thundering skies
those tornadoes
the warm hood
and leafy embrace
of grandmothers and oaks.
waving hills of green gnarled oaks
rolling under waves of grey clouds
into the dusky horizon
turning blue
pressed close by these thundering skies
those tornadoes
the warm hood
and leafy embrace
of grandmothers and oaks.
Oklahoma
Little lips of
Indian paintbrush
Kissed in the wind,
bright red eyes
washed in waves of green.
Bare flanks of gulleys
hillsides rash and red
under peeling green.
Blood red, water
collects in the cattle pond,
ominous eye in the field’s green face.
the churned up underbelly of earth,
the deep rust of the plowed field in little clots
sitting upright in the sun
surrounded, encircled by the welcoming, waving green.
Arbuckle
(Can you imagine this land before it was etherized,
Dissected?)
The neon Exxon sign floats above the deserted station
swallowed in these rocky hills
ancient spines of continents,
islands rising above Jurassic seas, now
bones breathing in the wind
expelling the marrow of centuries
to settle into dust
and grass
and trees.
(What life can we etch out on these eternal shores?)
Texas/Rooms
abandoned gravel drives,
bright red eyes
washed in waves of green.
Bare flanks of gulleys
hillsides rash and red
under peeling green.
Blood red, water
collects in the cattle pond,
ominous eye in the field’s green face.
the churned up underbelly of earth,
the deep rust of the plowed field in little clots
sitting upright in the sun
surrounded, encircled by the welcoming, waving green.
Arbuckle
(Can you imagine this land before it was etherized,
Dissected?)
The neon Exxon sign floats above the deserted station
swallowed in these rocky hills
ancient spines of continents,
islands rising above Jurassic seas, now
bones breathing in the wind
expelling the marrow of centuries
to settle into dust
and grass
and trees.
(What life can we etch out on these eternal shores?)
Texas/Rooms
abandoned gravel drives,
trucks parked to
rust under oaks
beside the tire swing.
trailer covered by vines
a swing porch
a breeze in the pines.
the cottage the yard the fence,
swallowed in the dry heaving of time.
the car dealership holds up empty concrete hands to the sky
under the auspice of haggard palms.
dusty red brick main street
bright with American flags
to hide its decrepitude.
dashing trucks flash, freshly
washed down the highway past
the Baptist church, abandoned barn, white stone graves
sinking into the rooted red dust.
houses fall into disrepair,
lives, sandals, shorts all wear out,
pour into rust
in rooms beneath the trees.
and clean new rooms rise
beside the tire swing.
trailer covered by vines
a swing porch
a breeze in the pines.
the cottage the yard the fence,
swallowed in the dry heaving of time.
the car dealership holds up empty concrete hands to the sky
under the auspice of haggard palms.
dusty red brick main street
bright with American flags
to hide its decrepitude.
dashing trucks flash, freshly
washed down the highway past
the Baptist church, abandoned barn, white stone graves
sinking into the rooted red dust.
houses fall into disrepair,
lives, sandals, shorts all wear out,
pour into rust
in rooms beneath the trees.
and clean new rooms rise
forever under oaken
arms.
Shoreline
All along these extravagant American shores
washed by the wind and tides and depths of ages
danced upon by the moonlight, the starlight, the stars,
towers sulk soulless
dull halos against the night
repelling the furrows of black
to hide along the horizon.
cars plunge headlong into the night in frantic drunken exclamations past neon bars lighting the hallowed rooms of our lives.
They say the sea speaks in waves
but no one was listening;
the stars scream eyes
but we are all blind.
The darkness deepens
as endless waves and words
lap silently
against these luxurious shores.
SC
Shoreline
All along these extravagant American shores
washed by the wind and tides and depths of ages
danced upon by the moonlight, the starlight, the stars,
towers sulk soulless
dull halos against the night
repelling the furrows of black
to hide along the horizon.
cars plunge headlong into the night in frantic drunken exclamations past neon bars lighting the hallowed rooms of our lives.
They say the sea speaks in waves
but no one was listening;
the stars scream eyes
but we are all blind.
The darkness deepens
as endless waves and words
lap silently
against these luxurious shores.
SC
everything the billboards were selling.
and when my throat screamed, scathed with lust,
It was only the dying, headlong necessity
buried deep in the belly
finally pouring out over this wide, wanton land.
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