| Five Poems In Three Parts
I. Body & Fender Man
My youth seemed always in the motion of collision
and not more than twice
feeling impact:
head cracking windshield, split chin eye
bent metal
--one more--
Twice closed my car's drive-door
lock tight looking at time patterns in the wing-window glass
to find I am translated by momentum-
II.
Desiring momentum
collides with your willingness to stay.
My sleep last night was heavy
sweat maybe too many blankets.
In the dark morning I felt, in the bed, with my hand,
paper I'm writing this poem on.
It was I felt the first night we sleep together,
enchantment followed. Later on
picking the paper from its resting place
discovering instead its blank companion.
The sheet I'll next write on
was a boulder in my arms all night
these dreams too vague to know if they'd been...
--omen follows omen--
the weight of the coming day as I lumber out of bed.
III. The rest of the day
Ignoring time I count
the hours try to pace
the day, 2 1/2 more
until 7 pm. This is nothing
to do with you in fact
for days I wander
not hearing my name
Having everything
dont want I
me for me, me for you.
Now for the escape:
The day will be dark
in an hour it will
be tolerable then.
There was a long silence before
this stanza while I
breathed and waited.
The objects in my breath were each alone.
In the wait I'd gone
to Tuxtla Guttierez a town
in the tropics of Mexico
and thought while there
"paradise is terminal"
here, in my car
out of Fall rain.
IV. Without A Doubt
Understandably focus
identifies object
moves toward focus
gathering distance
the two soon indistinguishable
one from the other or better
not same but one.
The force is momentum split
I'm wanting to say 'together.'
Dualities find their counterpart
single separation multiplied
the effect is distance
and multiplicity
in the pregnant world of energy.
Today is a film in reverse
preferring to be run forward
in a linear history
measured in a non-linear space
wed of nature and history
a film as if I'm viewing my actions
from now to when, rather than from the first
to the end. The manner in which
I think death plays back life.
While writing this section I've finished
a marvelous bowl of Lima beans
many times as the filled spoon entered
the space between my lips I imagined
it to be the nipple of a breast of a young woman
at the table to my right.
It is the light brown almost pink flesh
of the red-head, mature and smooth
as Molloy's sucking stones.
(My days are pregnant with evening Indistinguishable from night.)
So that i won't disappear
after Genet
To shoot murdering God making him
your mortal enemy
Deliberately let away veils
of crape and mortar, chiffon, jute
Pulling the skin from your face
like a mask and hair exposing thief
the victim and their crimes
now penis, your wit,
humor, intellect;
break bones both big toes:
fallen to your knees
crawl to your thumbs and language, reduced
to indecipheral moans your closet
sleeping on piled laundry; dream,
(call them dreams)
© Steve Creson
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