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carpet, v., n. : as in bombing,
laying down death, hot and bright,
covering with orange turning
to the black that erases, smudges
like punch spilled
onto carpet, the happy host
pouring, not looking, laughing,
missing the cup, a wet sticky rope
of sweet black tea and orange sherbet,
the stain that rises and rises again,
that Poe story retold, never weary,
a blow that keeps pummeling,
a blue-black stain cleaning cannot touch;
carpet woven by hands
100,000 knots of silk
tied tight, meant to last.
published in The B O D Y, 2012
***
Ariel echo of Prospero
who is satisfied to see
himself extended his arm in flight
plucking upending returning
but Ariel is no more Prospero
than candle flame
and logs burning
are diverse elements
Ariel is no more Prospero
than fire
is anything but fire
enflaming consuming
burning damp pulp down to carbon crusts
published in Heron Tree, 2013
Monsieur Saluki
He’s stationed in front of the cemetery
and we pass him, on our way to the Métro station,
on our way to the café with the guide dog.
He is arguing with himself in reasoned discourse,
laying out his points, weighing each in his hands,
one against the other. He nods: well said.
Full hair springing silver frames brown eyes
dark and liquid as a Saluki. Monsieur Saluki.
He surveys us holding hands, settles
his fringed red scarf like Lautrec's Aristide;
he catches my eye and calls to me: Mais souriez,
ma belle!
A beat until my French clicks: Come on,
sweetheart, smile!
and when I hear, I smile to him as sweet as ever I can.
He tips his face up to the leafing white alders,
he sighs, Oh, to be in love in springtime.
published in Perfume River Poetry Review
Eavesdropping in the Louvre
Have you ever heard of the Post-Modern
Neoclassical Style?
I like it, it’s very architectural.
ABC art is the simplest you can find.
Framing is so important.
It’s very accessible these days.
Rembrandt had all his drawings framed.
You can always find some group of people
that cares about that.
Nobody really likes Picasso.
It’s just a scam from the critics, did you know that?
Harbingers of the future is what I’m about,
but I’m really low-tech about it.
During my hiatus I got into antique art,
like Van Gogh’s Sunflowers
Do you know how much it sold for?
Fifty-three million!
Did you ever eat at Nordstrom?
I’m unemployed, just making my art.
Do you smell garlic in here?
Maybe it’s a new perfume.
I don’t like it as an air-freshener.
Have you ever read Timothy Leary?
He’s written some books.
I’ve read “Exo-psychology.”
Have you read the Bible?
Do you believe in Christ? I’m not
a Jesus freak,
or anything,
but I like Christ the Light.
The Light. (The Light.)
You can’t call yourself a man if you don’t make art.
published in Superficial Flesh, 2008
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