Saturday, April 02, 2005

 

Number 2, title taken, as all my titles this month shall be, from the TOC of "Best Loved Poems of the American People." Comments are now working. Huzzah!


Is It a Sin to Love Thee?


You betcha and so much the better,hotstuff,
As I'm trying deeply to recall: the way you
Work it is not sanctioned by any church but
This Sunday saloon whose set decoration reinforces
A wandering eye: the dirty windows, jar of olives,
Pimentos squinting down the clientele. Not mine: I'm
Blind to all but your dirty underlines, italics,
Words seedy with serifs in the undergrowth of vowels,
The way you drink your whisky communion, say
All the wrong kind of prayers, receive the bartender's
Benediction. One more dollar for the collection basket
And then we'll slide out together, darling, gone
Inky into the black spaces between the streetlights,
Their insistent buzzing, lost homily: What darkness
Has joined together, let no man sunder apart.

posted by Reen at 6:41 AM | link| versify 0 comments

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Friday, April 01, 2005

 

Here is the first poem. It was written on a train, and on a bookmark, and therefore it is short. I have a wicked cold and was suffering from a form of caffeine poisoning, so probably not the next "Song of Myself" or whatever, but seriously, I now am full of Nyquil and thus illicit booze and so ha ha.

The Coming American

Something softly nineteen-forties, blouse
pulled tight into a slender skirt. Let's
be plain-spoken, black and white in silver
print, albumen, the shining wave of a permanent.
The hat-pin brigade is on its way, the return
that keeps on giving, the reel spun backword,
satanic lipsync in celluloid. Radio silence.
The flag on film. The steaming train in station.
Kiddo, don't cry. Your stilettos are out of the box.

posted by Reen at 7:16 PM | link| versify 0 comments

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