Hello all! This week, the wonderful David Dodd Lee will be reading from a variety of his nine collections (view the event here), and in my excitement, I have decided to share three poems instead of one. I hope you enjoy them as much as I do. All Best!
Beautiful scallops of painted metal drip in the rain.
Love just keeps smacking
Into these tormented cold mirrors, like leaves
Throwing down their wet brown faces.
Perhaps the moment is inside the woman,
Or contained inside her yet-to-be daughter.
Perhaps I’ll find
In a field lassoed by the curves of a stuffed river
The fingerprints of my only love.
Or perhaps I’ll simply stand in the horizon
Of a lamplit doorway
And fix my lapel for the duration.
Watch the past fly over the harbor, a missile,
That explodes like an exhalation of paint.
Someone has thoughtfully lined the cold floor
I could live with this kind of never-ending . . .
A vanishing point. A hallway.
The earth turns around its molten core.
I know that. I knew it, felt it.
Lavender heat, streaming. In bed.
Moths swallowed in the lost porch light.
Hot and sweet, tallow.
Beneath a racing of blue-black clouds.
She breathes on the tree.
A boat drifts halfway home, gets mired in the reeds.
The windows glow.
Moths in the soup. The moths are angels.
Angels with snatches.
They flow from dark banks in the North. “Eros (The Fisherman)”
He heard a flock of geese whispering once.
She shows him what they meant.
Her throat is like a tunnel. Her heart spits sun spots.
The moths piss on his stomach. They sing.
He eats one. (Taste of salt, a finger.)
He imagines a drill bit piercing the crust of the earth.
Instead of water, birds fly out of the hole.
They cover the moon.
He smells animal flesh cooking, hot in the wind.
Love on the river.
Mouth of hell. Mouth of heaven. A cave.
Drink until you’re no longer hungry.
CURVATURE OF THE SPINE
It wasn’t all that long ago I watched a guy drink himself
to death he really died pissed all over himself first all over the couch
later I saw the box cutter in the sink I wish I could have saved him
that same week I saw a giant swallowtail come up from Florida banking like
a boat through the Dakota-like plains west of Galesburg
and I knew I was a little bit singing / dying each minute my hands
clutching the wheel of the mower she was the angel of death that butterfly
And then my hands on the girl who dreamed and dreamed while I kissed her
I watched her circulate in her clothes Then I start thinking
I’m not capable of thinking I’m just beating the wind with my nuts
I tell you from there things get foggy like many arrows whistling
through rain a confluence of vanishing points As a child I lived near a hollow
scooped out in the dunes I watched the dying alewives
float under my balls while the hair sprouted around my
nipples and my spine grew long as a vine strangling a phone pole
As long as I can remember the trees
clung to the cliffs of sand Nothing begins with me Nothing stays the same
Nothing gropes its way home Those days and now These snap dragons
and tulips marigolds I ate a basket of purple beans last night
grew them in the damp arbor sun of the late afternoon
when you throw them in boiling water they turn green
it’s a miracle of alchemy they were crunchy because I was so hungry
I went to buy my lover a goldfish I think of minnows shifting
over a moonlit bed I think of hot water cutting grease off a knife
I clotheslined a bastard once he was holding a beer in a cup
it was a long time ago there was an old wood stove smoking in the corner
of a room it was full of burning hickory
the ground outside was littered with fresh dogwood petals
I reached my fingers out for a second because I thought it was snowing
I left the fish in its bag he didn’t die but almost
Tom she said Rick? the T.V. was airing a show about weather
All I could see was a shutter torn off a house and blown
across an empty street one lamp was on I got
out of there quickly I started thinking about my life the way it sometimes
sparkled like a blue gill caught in the sun or grew dark
like the rain in a yard full of lumber and bricks I could see my breath
I peeled off a culvert I listened to the hum of a street light
it kept getting later and later I walked all night
At dawn I saw that giant swallowtail slowly fanning her black wings
in my driveway like a candle burning in an empty church