last night I told her
just leave me alone
still dark
in lighted kitchens
coffee, toast, cereal
train whistles on the dawn run
engines firing in the parking lot
last night I told her
just leave me alone
sky won't give up
it's iron cast
to sunrise...
mist turning to drizzle
you don't need me
you got a man at home
you don't need me
you got
a man
at home.
I planted radioactive seeds
picked from the cancer lab
in flesh-thick soil
sprinkled with heavy water
soon luminous flowers
with day-glo stalks
and petals infrared
stretched to the smoldering
incandescent sky
noblesse giraffe
lured to her boudoir
now what?
impenetrable thought
impossible grace
grazing indifferently
on her morsels
scrupulous
critical
aloof
but turning toward
the scent
of her fingers
allegro vivace
we cannot reach
down perjured time
through bars of heaven
behind the luminous years
song birds on a stave
theatrics of evening
our dusty star's
cool amber, not
the warm flesh of dawn--
left with each other
decoding words
a faded vaudevillian
dreams of contortionists
and chorus girls
at the Brighton Beach Hotel
a stone monument
fronting empty boardwalk
raked by Atlantic winds
between brick walls
a paved yard
fills with the sunlight
of weak tea
standing between us
loudly panting
knotty-haired
ulcerous
of inalienable stink
which I will never
live with
and she can't let go,
embodies bone and blood
the past holding us
apart
Rover and I
two old dogs
waiting to die
his love
constant
unconditional
mine cooling with time
as heart seals off--
a wounded animal
and if our future's
dissonant
intransigent
perhaps the old dog
guards her
one last time
calendars shedding bleached leaves
garbage trucks clanking
steam rising from sewers
programs of the mind
running
out of memory
corrupted data
sectors and clusters
in slow, soft meltdown
dreamers and homeless wayfarers
still missing the comfort
and joy
Who identified the victim--
established time of death?
Who was the lady in scarlet,
the child playing under the moon?
Below the troubled surface
schools of spearing
fled the marbleized shadows
hunted by sea-birds from above
snapper beneath.
From the aimless drift
the red eagle codex
the dragon book
diagrams of the crossbow.
You stood at the prow
as they dragged the river
where hecatombs vanished
in a lightning flash.
You dropped from the clouds
eyes like lanterns, skin
folding like foil,
a falling star.
you gave me
love poems
I wouldn't admit
not understanding
now
they're hauntingly
clear
in my love
for another
my daughter sang for the president
my car has automatic windows
my eyeglasses are snug, unbreakable
my home is clean and warm
pantry well-provisioned
in front, geometrical lawns
in back tall grasses dance
people like my poetry
my girlfriend says I'm killing her
Then our great chief
shook in the night breeze
tears tangled in his beard
crying and whispering
like a fevered child
till slumber soothed his brow
and we unstopped our ears
pointing our carved prow north
under bold constellations...
but sometimes on the night wind heard
or thought we heard
enticing music
charming to the gods
echoing of the tawny hills of home
children and wives
and then we wept
yes wept.
this season
fire in the trees
glittering flood tides lifting
things long forgotten
crusted with barnacles and moss
rush of these glassy currents
raging streams
islands clinging to roots, rocks
swept past the three-headed dog
and the bleeding thing
torn in its jaws
it is your body
song of my childhood
landscape of my mind
whose dark rivers echo
a low, underground murmur
night mists
melt in the sun
your realm
where creatures swim and fly
and stalks leap
from the soil
shaking their joyful rags
talking into the tape
I feel less alone
arthritis keeps me from crossing
right leg over left
a friend tells me to pastel
my only life
with bliss
you love me
but live with him
that's what I
live with
now
you feel me
when I'm not there
but when I am
you don't dare
singed wings
teach moths
the lesson of the flame
agony gains
insight
or goes insane
there is no end
to learning
or to pain
For my friends at the LIPC workshop.
you come here
to read us your poems
and, yes,
that's you across the table--
brow-line of concentration
fretting a fumbled word
voice undulate
with flowing syllables
but the words, I think,
singing the pheromones
of flesh
stunning
still
not why we come here
nor as astonishing
your voice quiet, direct, intense
leaving the restaurant you
were looking down
when I kissed you
inside together we asked
who are you?
sliding deeper
those nights were seamless
transparent
without exit
like a sphere
© Copyright 2-2-97 Martin A. Abramson. All rights reserved.