The more you became not what I thought you were pretending to be the more I wanted to define you within my cracked dictionary of obsession.
obsession
I Always Let My Victim Catch Me in the Act
The first time I could have thought
I’d died and gone to heaven, I didn’t.
Only years later would I see
how one night of live music inside Toad’s
Place would be all I ever needed—
one almost lethal obsession kicking
in, another stubbornly tame one sparked
and filed away in a Midwestern vault
for safe keeping. Do not remove for more
than a decade (and a half). The first time
I did think I’d died and gone
there, I took a wrong turn
onto a riverboat and got trapped tracing
a wake aft. To cross it without spilling
into myself has become a new preoccupation
about to break the surface. Ready
as I’ll never be and all other stolen
turns of phrase twisted inside out.
Figure
Madness of the mud
but she doesn’t
sculpt. Passion for digging
into soil rich
in nutrients
for thought, but
she doesn’t garden.
One more contradiction—
and her obsession will be complete.
Into this Autumnal Equinox
This rain may mute
the full moon tonight,
may turn my thoughts to wet
brain, incurable
delusion, doubt, immobility.
I cannot blame
those clouds or any weather
pattern for this disease
of selfish, vicious obsession. It fights
back by sitting in wait
to rot my body—power
greater than myself. I won’t decay
today, will walk into spitting
wind to become present
inside a drop of cannot know.
Witness or Survivor
Superstition and obsession
get married—will it
last, will it to last.
Three turns east,
the left hand leads.
Fashion 2010
White, unadorned silk,
her obsession is showing.
How much depends on
how closely you look. If
you comment on it, she may reply:
Oh, it’s supposed to.
That’s the style
as is this gray hair.
The Take No Heroes Hotel
Welcome to the inn
where no reservations are taken, where
possession is one quarter, obsession
one more,
the other half
a lifetime spent designing the perfect
room where relinquishment adorns
each and every square foot of space
to walk
away from each and every hero
you took, she took, he took,
we all took,
save ourselves. Welcome
to the color
of the first suit you swam in,
to the sound
of the first dive you performed. Welcome
to the taste
of the first sea scallop you craved, to the touch
of the first porch
you danced upon—it is,
always was,
The Take No Heroes Hotel
where we belong.
EGO (Day 2,272)
“How describe the world seen without a self?”
—Virginia Woolf, The Waves
Enter this garden
of obsession. Edge growth
out to fill beds
with worry
stones. Ease your way
from grimaces to oval
reflection pools. Exit
through this iron gate
to a new order where
you might begin to see how
there could be a world
without the self.
How to Find God (or, Recipe for Redemption)
Drain the doubt, using
a sharp knife, cut it into bite-size pieces.
Place the divided up doubt
in a shallow non-metallic dish.
Mix together the garlic, bad choices, and sweet
flavored self-destruction
and drizzle over the doubt. Toss
well to coat each piece
and set aside with your prejudices
to marinate at least 20 years.
Meanwhile, heat the oil of obsession
in a large pre-heated inferno.
Add the slices of your peeled soul to the pit
and stir-fry over a high
heat until they brown and become
crispy. Remove the sliced soul with a slotted heart-
shaped spoon and drain on absorbent lost love
letters. Add the doubt to the hot oil
and stir-fry for about 5
breaths. Remove all but 1 tablespoon of the oil
in the world. Add the descent
into darkness
and stir-fry for 2-3 millennia,
or until it has softened.
Return the doubt and sliced soul
to the inferno and heat to the core,
stirring occasionally. Drizzle with desperation. Transfer
to slightly chipped serving plates and serve
immediately. If you are in a hurry,
buy ready-marinated doubt
from your local market. Either way, record the recipe
and please pass it on.
Night & Day Poems of Amy Nash 