The Maturation Of Man:
Because rain. Because hard. Because
pain in my ribs, because buckle and
wait. Because
cramping. Because
kneeling low. Because pause. Because
fact. Because
wings unreel the flat
spread
of my stomach. Because feathers. Because
damp. Because red,
white,
because loose the skin falls to all- pile my
shoes. Because shirt. Because torn. Because
buttons un-
done, because chest a pale
fire. Because calm. Because
thinking
through. Because steady. Because focused. Because
bones
straighten, retract in a
fold. Because
movement. Because pushing
out. Because stretch, because reach,
because weak
the growth spreads like sick sheets
on a line. Because
quiet. Because broken
down. Because phone
calls,
mothers, because children scream
softly they
still want to touch me. Because
sirens.
Because cameras and tanks. Because there
is
no choice but to head for the hills.
Because
terror. Because running scared. Because
breathe, because
breathe, because spasms,
beats. Because from a bench I
step to the
air— watch as my
city
folds down to a circle.
Audible Retraction:
In the hayloft of a neighbor’s
barn,
I am just a
torso. Propped up against the
bailing doors, I stare at four
limbs laid out before me: a
child’s arm, the leg of
a
rabbit, two twitching fins in
varying
stages of
decay. Although I’m
unsure,
a letter I find indicates they’ll
work
if I can somehow get
them attached. Leaning
forward, I throw back my
weight in an attempt to lessen
the blow. Using only my
pectorals and chin, I
rock my
way across the plywood
floor. Splinters in my chest
sledge to
keep me
awake. Throughout the day,
I hear horses below nicker
while they’re watered and
fed. By nightfall, I’ve
covered
what I assume is
eleven yards. This close, I
see now the limbs are fitted
with color-coded
thread
bolts. I’ll sleep here. In the
morning
I’ll call for help and
when no one answers I’ll
hold with my mouth stale
flesh in my teeth and screw in
whatever’s in reach.
Went We. Inside. My Colon A Tree: (Diagnosis)
Went we. Inside. My colon a tree. Broom heavy with
light. With heavy cut leaves left. Standing
the spill of. My levee. My
leaving. My find young
ulcers. Tall kicking in. Skirts.
Legs white. High stockings stored. Up low were
my. Enzymes. And you. Curtained the. Colon. Red
salad your. Shoulder. So long. So roll. So still
we waited I. Was dis- eased clean. Under my sternum.
Here was the. Mandarin. Orange deep water breath
here. Was the steady fed. Crate where they saw through the
inside of this. Hot future to get it. Out. Get it out. Get.
It. Out.
Manoleria:
My left wrist is
tied to a
bumper. My right, to a horse
drinking
water. The car and
the animal face opposite
directions. There are two
women with flags raised high
in the night. The engine revs
and the horse is mounted by a
jockey. Counting down from
ten, the girls heavy
their
breath. The moon is hidden
by
lights from a city. When
we start to pull away, even I
am excited.
- all of these poems appear in Manoleria
"The Maturationof Man" first apeared in Kenyon Review;
"Went We, Inside" first appeared in Thermos and the anthology Disco Prairie Social Aid
and Pleasure Club, Factory Hollow Press
"Manoleria" also first appeared
in Thermos
