I need you tonight, moon, am collapsing in the curve of you. I found a wrench in the street this morning. I need you tonight, throwing tools (I am afraid to use) before me, am reaching to cradle my own knees— bruised by misjudgment. These arms, these fingers are too stiff. Right tighter, left looser, bolts [...]
Archive for September, 2009
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If You Please
Posted: September 29, 2009 by Arambler in Night PoemsTags: balance beam, doom eager, Poetry, regrets
Regrets only raise the lower tree line equally. Bottom leaves hidden from sunlight, they die at the same rate. If I succeed in not showing up for another family pageant to appear before you a doom eager stranger mouthing simple questions about your coniferous forest, I just might dig up my balance beam in this [...]
Prayer (Day 324)
Posted: September 28, 2009 by Arambler in Day PoemsTags: god, Poetry, prayer, rape
When I look at the moon, I believe in God in phases. Because he who rapes the body no longer rapes thought, I said, “no.” When I look at the moon, I believe in God in pauses revealed in shadow giving consent to light. When a new moon gives back the whole sky, I’ll begin [...]
Art of Seduction
Posted: September 27, 2009 by Arambler in Afternoon PoemsTags: art, Flaubert, Poetry, seduction
Are you Flaubert’s least untrue, she won’t dare ask for fear your reply might smack her cheek, lick her lip, keep her reaching for more paint and wall.
Day 1,487
Posted: September 26, 2009 by Arambler in Day PoemsTags: alcoholic palimpsest, Poetry, scriptio inferior
I am the scriptio inferior, I am the underwriting of myself. I cannot wash away the dialogues I have had with amnesia, cannot forget my desire to be seen. With each alcoholic palimpsest, I became powder, irretrievable, invisible to myself. With each reprieve, I am making a record of what my disease did not erase.
Preparing for the Change
Posted: September 25, 2009 by Arambler in Civil Twilight or Dawn PoemsTags: change, civil twilight, hidden forest, Poetry
September rain not really falling, but has fallen. Clouds mess with her chance to witness another civil twilight. But a western gleam signals another shift. And she wishes she could find the hidden white pine forest, tucked into it creek, where she would be safe to write his name in the needle bed dirt without [...]
Muse in Relief
Posted: September 24, 2009 by Arambler in Afternoon PoemsTags: chisel, muse, Poetry, sculpture
I carve you alive with my own chiseled lips. I make you because I was made by another nervous dreamer. Your brows are what rise when I’m done with your face. You smile— with your flat stone eyes and male mouth, but it’s those brows you give me to unwrap myself with when my own [...]
You and Your Confluence
Posted: September 23, 2009 by Arambler in Morning PoemsTags: confluence, mississippi river, moon, Poetry
Water meets water, she turns to witness your exchange. A stick snag mud morning before the sun breaches all birth of unwoven sound. She turns again to wait the long steel blue wait. It’s got to be a full moon tonight.
Roadhouse Revisited (Day 365)
Posted: September 22, 2009 by Arambler in Day PoemsTags: Caryatid, Poetry, roadhouse
She will answer her own question with another question wrapped inside a brilliantly clean pattern of reds, blacks, gold— a pattern bleeding into another, into another without end. “Will I make it to the roadhouse without dying tonight?” Spotting an unraveling of the veil of delusion, she picks beautiful silk threads off the floor where [...]
She Krishna
Posted: September 21, 2009 by Arambler in Civil Twilight or Dawn PoemsTags: dirt, Krishna, Poetry
Before order disrupted everything, she ate dirt. It would fall from the ridgepole after wind storms. She liked the fresh earth best—scoops of it swallowed to defy the rules she would choke on with time. When she ate dirt, no obstruction could break her momentum. Well, is it true? Did you eat dirt? The last [...]
