#13
After
Dreaming
1
I’m so sick of all of these Goddamn birds;
the moon staring with her gigantic monster eye.
Everything pelican water. Everything
fin & flower.
2
Adam is dead & his ghost comes back—soothsayer. He flutters. He loves.
Then, snakes writhing out of ashes—hissing.
I am putting out fires with bottles of milk
& crying thundered tears.
He speaks to me with his second throat.
I want him to—
A golden trellis drops down from his hand & I
move & move--my mind-wheel.
I ask him, “How do I know this map is true?”
& I make my own water-sketch.
3
Every line: a tiny counterfeit dictionary.
This is what happens: a rusted fence.
1
I’m so sick of all of these Goddamn birds;
the moon staring with her gigantic monster eye.
Everything pelican water. Everything
fin & flower.
2
Adam is dead & his ghost comes back—soothsayer. He flutters. He loves.
Then, snakes writhing out of ashes—hissing.
I am putting out fires with bottles of milk
& crying thundered tears.
He speaks to me with his second throat.
I want him to—
A golden trellis drops down from his hand & I
move & move--my mind-wheel.
I ask him, “How do I know this map is true?”
& I make my own water-sketch.
3
Every line: a tiny counterfeit dictionary.
This is what happens: a rusted fence.
From Negotiating With Objects (Tentative Title)
~Lisa
M. Cole~
*
After Hiding
Listen: The body has a way of
offering signs--
when her arm becomes a sword, a
muted gun,
everything turns out wrong.
First, she enters this room, then
another. But there are no windows—
no way out. She’s locked--like a
door, like a safe. She’s hollow,
she’s meandering again; listening to
the steady static in her skull:
Sunday morning creeping like a nun; Sunday morning coming down.
She must become her own oracle
but she doesn’t know: There is still
time
to salvage this blue-colored day
from all of these white-faced ghosts;
make a stanza with her body.
As usual, she is negotiating with empty
objects:
the moving car, the wooden chair,
the winding stairs.
Here is what she does know: ghosts
can only do so much. They have no
hands.
From Negotiating With Objects (Tentative Title)
~Lisa M. Cole~
*
After
Lying
Because I am a maven of disaster,
I have hooks for hands, marbles
where my eyes should be. My
bloody boomerang heart in an hourglass.
When hysteria means brilliance
the girls with fevers are all glim & stutter
waiting like a plague, lying like dead
doves on fainting couches, in fainting rooms.
In the pantry, I find a photo of a jackalope and a
deck of cards with all the queens missing.
Because I am a maven of disaster,
I have hooks for hands, marbles
where my eyes should be. My
bloody boomerang heart in an hourglass.
When hysteria means brilliance
the girls with fevers are all glim & stutter
waiting like a plague, lying like dead
doves on fainting couches, in fainting rooms.
In the pantry, I find a photo of a jackalope and a
deck of cards with all the queens missing.
From Negotiating With Objects (Tentative Title)
~Lisa
M. Cole~
*
Santa Muerte
See
you here, in the clutch of air
crackle
of nerves, black ice--
a
condition that cannot be fixed
Mortal,
now, forever
redruin
gasps, blue lips fade
the
shattered toy limps through
paradise
of viscera
etched
of the blade in hollow of heat
A
thing that cannot be, never was, and never leaves
The
skulls are tumbling from the mountains
rung
of some essential bell
a
place that is hallowed, all-too-human
An
error seared in the skin
An
erasure that keeps on writing
The
cord snaps, but the shadows sustain:
a
condition that cannot be fixed
*
Parnassian
Screwdriver
Blood
crank, erase upon reading
telenovela
of the serpentine
grasps
without meaning
Hola,
jefe. The pig wears a tuxedo and sucks his
gnarled
loins in, still springs the spiral cock
(at
the mountains of muddiness)
The
Parnassian Screwdriver
Haloes,
fallow well met:
Crimson
ghosts of Eden spook the very gods.
The
night time is the right time.
*
Chip
Mind
Inspired by “Nanotime” by Bart Kosko
I dreamed I had a chip mind
I had been replaced
My memories, knowledge and self awareness
Downloaded onto a chip
Implanted back into my own brain
I called on menus in my head by silently speaking
opening windows within windows within windows
Though I controlled my body
I no longer was my body
I could feel terror in the pit of my stomach,
if I chose
I could feel
the uplifting shiver of first love,
if I desired
I lived whole lifetimes in my chip mind
Thousands of years outside
of the time outside
I could do anything, in my chip mind
I could fuck a million men
Or women and children
Or beasts and ghosts
With one flick of my eyelid
I could turn whole civilizations
Into blood and smoke
And after many eternities
I no longer wanted to do
anything
I dreamed I had a chip mind
I could feel
The desolate wind
of the enormous database inside me
I was curved
I was a universe
I could hear the echoing
of all the information I contained
I could download files and databases
of knowledge that tasted like liquid light
I dreamed I had a chip mind
And when I woke my meat was shining
Shining open at the base of my spine
And I was never as wondrous
As the dreams of the meat mind
And I was never so relieved to be
Just flesh and cells
just blood
water
electricity
Inspired by “Nanotime” by Bart Kosko
I dreamed I had a chip mind
I had been replaced
My memories, knowledge and self awareness
Downloaded onto a chip
Implanted back into my own brain
I called on menus in my head by silently speaking
opening windows within windows within windows
Though I controlled my body
I no longer was my body
I could feel terror in the pit of my stomach,
if I chose
I could feel
the uplifting shiver of first love,
if I desired
I lived whole lifetimes in my chip mind
Thousands of years outside
of the time outside
I could do anything, in my chip mind
I could fuck a million men
Or women and children
Or beasts and ghosts
With one flick of my eyelid
I could turn whole civilizations
Into blood and smoke
And after many eternities
I no longer wanted to do
anything
I dreamed I had a chip mind
I could feel
The desolate wind
of the enormous database inside me
I was curved
I was a universe
I could hear the echoing
of all the information I contained
I could download files and databases
of knowledge that tasted like liquid light
I dreamed I had a chip mind
And when I woke my meat was shining
Shining open at the base of my spine
And I was never as wondrous
As the dreams of the meat mind
And I was never so relieved to be
Just flesh and cells
just blood
water
electricity
*
Mused
For Jeanine
For Jeanine
And if I rape you, my teacher, my muse
and if you rape me, my student, my ether
it’s nooses at dawn, and shackles at midnight
my sister my lover my girlfriend
my friend
together tonight alone we fight
with the other we find in ourselves
we rape our own muses like mad masturbation
from a lost lifetime our muses we merge
we go down together, we rise suddenly
our bond squares dimensions our words merge the reason
the mystic unearths
my worthy worthy adversary
my other half of the best friend necklace
cracked somehow wrong
my sister cocooned butterfly
the stifled beating of our wings
against the hollow of the wall
I hear you somewhere
your wings sound like mine
and wings they sound an echo so rare
together we are alone tonight
drowning in the skin
of someone we have never been
reeling in the wake of subatomic distances
measured dimensionless to dust and stars
where we are tonight,
moths embedded in the light
tonight we pierce words in our lungs
our husks themselves sometimes take hold
the memories of our porous minds
like an awkward demon possessing
some rareborn wide-eyed child tonight
it’s nooses at dawn, and shackles at midnight
my sister my lover my girlfriend
my friend
together tonight alone we fight
with the other we find in ourselves
we rape our own muses like mad masturbation
from a lost lifetime our muses we merge
we go down together, we rise suddenly
our bond squares dimensions our words merge the reason
the mystic unearths
my worthy worthy adversary
my other half of the best friend necklace
cracked somehow wrong
my sister cocooned butterfly
the stifled beating of our wings
against the hollow of the wall
I hear you somewhere
your wings sound like mine
and wings they sound an echo so rare
together we are alone tonight
drowning in the skin
of someone we have never been
reeling in the wake of subatomic distances
measured dimensionless to dust and stars
where we are tonight,
moths embedded in the light
tonight we pierce words in our lungs
our husks themselves sometimes take hold
the memories of our porous minds
like an awkward demon possessing
some rareborn wide-eyed child tonight
as If I rape you, my teacher my muse
as if you rape me, my student my
ether
it’s
nooses at dawn and shackles at night
my sister my lover my girlfriend
my friend
my worthy worthy adversary
my other half of the best friend necklace
cracked somehow wrong
wafting of our voices
when they are true
we have touched hands
across harsh depths
across these depths,
we have touched hands
our muses wept,
our spirits writhe
on sharp rocks,
we have touched hands
as if I love you
my teacher my muse
my sister cocooned butterfly
the stifled beating of our wings
against the hollow of the wall
my friend
my worthy worthy adversary
my other half of the best friend necklace
cracked somehow wrong
wafting of our voices
when they are true
we have touched hands
across harsh depths
across these depths,
we have touched hands
our muses wept,
our spirits writhe
on sharp rocks,
we have touched hands
as if I love you
my teacher my muse
my sister cocooned butterfly
the stifled beating of our wings
against the hollow of the wall
*
Caul
Wrapped like sky and curled
jelled soft muscle spasms
dilute your blood
your hands, lined and scarred, go transparent
jelly-veined like tv aliens
fingernails break below skin line
sky folds, crumples around your toes
spider-fingers suck from your lips
like a naked baby in a green jelly-jar
it is warm here
warm like a curled fist
in a drowned bath
warm like a loose tooth
the sky has turned to winter
and you are warm
Wrapped like sky and curled
jelled soft muscle spasms
dilute your blood
your hands, lined and scarred, go transparent
jelly-veined like tv aliens
fingernails break below skin line
sky folds, crumples around your toes
spider-fingers suck from your lips
like a naked baby in a green jelly-jar
it is warm here
warm like a curled fist
in a drowned bath
warm like a loose tooth
the sky has turned to winter
and you are warm
*
Neon Confessional
Of course I’m intrigued by something shiny so I approach. An electronic eye scrutinizes my body and automatic doors fold open. Liquid green light stripes me. Is this some kind of disco? Why am I naked? The light that scans every fissure and fracture is sticky liquid green like the sports drink my daddy loved.
You intone from your alcove I want to know more about your daddy. How boring. I fish with my foot for a magic button in the floor which I can stomp and trapdoor myself out of here. It’s then I notice you’ve stuck all these bandages to my body. They’re skinmelted. My short nails pry and pry.
I’ll be here for hours I warn. Fine. Your voice like noise from a drain. Is that a pitch adjuster you are using? It’s like an evil puppet with neurosyphilis. Fine. Take your time. Tell me about your daddy. My foot keeps searching.
Of course I’m intrigued by something shiny so I approach. An electronic eye scrutinizes my body and automatic doors fold open. Liquid green light stripes me. Is this some kind of disco? Why am I naked? The light that scans every fissure and fracture is sticky liquid green like the sports drink my daddy loved.
You intone from your alcove I want to know more about your daddy. How boring. I fish with my foot for a magic button in the floor which I can stomp and trapdoor myself out of here. It’s then I notice you’ve stuck all these bandages to my body. They’re skinmelted. My short nails pry and pry.
I’ll be here for hours I warn. Fine. Your voice like noise from a drain. Is that a pitch adjuster you are using? It’s like an evil puppet with neurosyphilis. Fine. Take your time. Tell me about your daddy. My foot keeps searching.
*
Exit Plan
Curled knees-to-chest on the stretcher,
Emma thinks: They still have not intruded
on my body. She’d wildfired a long chug
of scotch, then sixty blue pills, some
yellow ones, her room mate’s insulin
from the fridge. Then leaned out
the third-floor window howling
while the neighbor children watched, big-eyed.
Someone called and they push-pulled
her into submission, bloodied her nose. The EMT
asked what’s your name. She said Emma but it sounded
like I’m mud, a foreign voice from under water.
Now it’s after-hours and tubes worm in and out.
Her heartline trudges across the monitor. Emma
asks am I going to die. The nurse says Probably
not. Her throat closes around the NG tube.
Tears and charcoal on her face. She whispers
good. He thinks she is gagging, blots her cheek
with a tissue. She wants to say don’t touch.
He wears a golf shirt, his chest so close
she can see the red threads intersect.
Curled knees-to-chest on the stretcher,
Emma thinks: They still have not intruded
on my body. She’d wildfired a long chug
of scotch, then sixty blue pills, some
yellow ones, her room mate’s insulin
from the fridge. Then leaned out
the third-floor window howling
while the neighbor children watched, big-eyed.
Someone called and they push-pulled
her into submission, bloodied her nose. The EMT
asked what’s your name. She said Emma but it sounded
like I’m mud, a foreign voice from under water.
Now it’s after-hours and tubes worm in and out.
Her heartline trudges across the monitor. Emma
asks am I going to die. The nurse says Probably
not. Her throat closes around the NG tube.
Tears and charcoal on her face. She whispers
good. He thinks she is gagging, blots her cheek
with a tissue. She wants to say don’t touch.
He wears a golf shirt, his chest so close
she can see the red threads intersect.
*
Cul-de-Sac
No one wants to remain
No one wants to remain
in this house. It’s crowded. All
the food
tastes like dirt. The silverware
is rusted. The windows are
blacked out,
the bookshelves lined with crime
novels.
The covers feature tortured
innocents,
unpunished criminals who go
insane.
All the mirrors render you
unsightly.
Everyone’s mouth is stuffed with
cotton
or ice. The phone rings. An
acquaintance
has discovered your obscene
habit. The mail
arrives. Another guest has
already opened
your package of incriminating
photographs.
A sallow man with a dried-up
nosebleed,
he approaches, pushes it toward
you,
asks, Isn’t this yours?
*
Crust
Flee, the crust will follow
Answer, the crust will obey
License it, the crust wears the
dork hat
Dismember it, the crusty cells
remember it
Crust never slops
Unlike the wobbling Butterfoot
Sewn through the arrow that
blears the sun
Crust is a mole
With goosed robot eyes
That leer with erotic telepathy
At the musk rose in its sin bath.
*
Grind
How sweet the grind
That pulls the haloed wagon
How bitter the anti-grind police
Their wet instruments
Polluted by the dreams of sundials
How cold the grip
That spooks the frosting from
weeding cakes
Into complaisant obedience
How narrow the hole
Nicked by the shadow of a bee’s
machine gun.
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