26 Feb 2006, 5:41pm
Writing
by David

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Aerial Views of the City

Brother, the bus ticket is fading

and the night is bestial. In my hand

the beer bottle breaks, taking my

blood to heaven. There is pretty

sunshine there, even the negative

shimmers in quick gold, the gold

coming from so many dreams.

The boy who resembles my father.

He draws a face–it’s open, it’s mine.

I confess: I think that we have been

holding hands all along. Let us

go sit. Tonight, the elephants

leave the story, the record-players

leave the sky.

Time, it’s time. We left elaborate

instructions for them. The car

on the edge of a quarry, the keys

inside. The swimmer, underwater.

And this poor fellow on the bridge,

lying. He has a lava future to sell.

A Mesozoic. Paleolithic. Hiding

under the lizard: lizard-skin, lizard-

pelt, lizard-penis. He cannot picture

the exact moment, exactly locate

the moment she drops her shawl

for the dandelion, for the road.

But he says the water is spotted

with dark berries, with thorns.

25 Feb 2006, 2:42am
Writing
by David

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My Life with Faye Dunaway

I’ll freeze in the cinema. Everywhere I point there’s a waterfall, a kiss which has just been consummated, an electric organ which makes me feel certain to splash. But I am going to freeze in my seat. I will not reach for the oversized, open mouth, the language, the open mouth, reach in and grab the eyes, hold them until they turn funny. How do they get everything to stick in such excruciating detail and color, such that I don’t have in my room? Not even in my pyjamas. Not even in my red rocker that I pat fondly when I dream. My fresh marigold stenciled onto my back, my straw seat. Can it even shimmer, when time folds like a wax cup left out in the rain? It’s raining now. I told you in my language before, if you want to know your will, your location, or exactly what you are feeling, the on-screen actress will know. Ask her. Do it now. Hello, there are holes in my ceiling. I think I am going to fall.
24 Feb 2006, 2:33am
Writing
by David

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After Prayer, the Psalmist Refuses to Get Up

Will I be having a seance with you
forever? Someone comes in with
claws. I hold its–his-or-her–
face in my hand. But I don’t
see the face. I don’t know it. By now, I am
waltzing out a window, I am
confused over the hand
turned down, turned around and around
a few times around the twine.
(What can I say to you when you don’t come?)

Caesar at his most honest (it is said)
cleared his throat, then executed every tenth man.
The voice of Caesar is like sheet music.

                                                                      –I fear it.

The voice of David is weary.
It is like a child that you have to gather up.
It fills streams.

Are you that vessel
I drew my lewd face over
and haven’t risen from?

23 Feb 2006, 6:04pm
Writing
by David

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Elbow Grease

When
have I wanted you less? I know a time.
I had gotten inside the
electricity and was living in Des Moines.
It was the model’s house.
She kept 58 pairs of shoes in the bathroom,
and stirrups.
I wore a sheepskin condom.
I had a pair of soft moccasins that I
loved to hear on the parquet.
Would you like some water? I’ll get it.

One day, we cleaned her tub. I said, “Pretty,
do those knobs look like crosses to you,
they look like X’s, to me.”

We argued.
That was my greatest mistake
so far.

23 Feb 2006, 3:37am
Writing
by David

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Eroticism

No more what-you-think.

A bit of perfection, a bit of loss.

A stir of everything, a little less usual.

Even moreso.

The sun is black. Your body is wild leaves.

Where have you put the mops?

This world is a mess.

I don’t think I will know when you wake up.

When?

Another door into the fire.