Tuesday, December 05, 2006

IOWA

IOWA
muse aubade for mine – this was


when you laughed – hysterically
that night – it was the perfect place


to end – the muse of mine
you were – where I am left


now – I must piss which
escapes my mind – since


worn – walkways
line one – milk box


from the next – heavy route
towards becoming – believably


barely believable – even polished
to bare – minimums


under articles – your loin
cloth – barely covers


your covering – warm
hands – warming still


your golden disc – really flares up
iowa's highest tide – your expectant


voice – tears
as it turns – everything


purple – even blue
was purple – it was really


weird – every minute
of our eighty hour day – a finch


on a branch – being subjective
in two minutes – of heaven


instead – what sucked
is history – your song


on the subject – blew minds
while nailing men down – just keep on nailing


all those nails – then go chew
your own nails – down


in the corner – to the quick
history you have – looking only


on numbers – caring less how
long lived – longing living


is what is – never enough
assurances – but consider


this right now – may be
you – given your goodbye


but first – let me nurse
your overstressed – hermaphroditic bud


blooming in late summer – the caw calls
for a fall fast – they built a subway


exactly where – our tent was
last minute – in Iowa


I had assumed – it was dawn
several times – it became obvious


it was dusk – time to push
hard manly – "ya well bite me"


before a feminized – "ya your insensitive
prick...hmpfff" – crosses arms


legs lips shift – slightest evidence
forming – a long line


of circles – in unison
repeating some – from former selves


before the crust of earth – became some
dime store dinner ware – your blood spills


at the slightest twitch – of one follicle
your pupils flutter – even without light


much less gravity – in the front seat
could you please – be more


interesting – you ask
regarding – other points


of interest – which was but fortune
sweet lass...hmm – how touching


you wearing – on your bare skin
these patterns – even imperfection


can yield – fortunes
upon fortunes – of agelessness


your laugh – a river of gold
however early – it was



~lds06

4 comments:

Lyle Daggett said...

A strange and fascinating one to read. Seemed like an unusual merging of the voices of Robert Creeley and Emily Dickinson -- Dickinson's careful considering rhythm, and Creeley's halting, hesitant voice. Enjoyed reading this.

luc u! said...

lyle,

thanks! although it the basic narrative voice (if you could call it that) is masculine... ...but i was conscious of my approach to soften that some... ...so that is encouraging to me. thanks for the note!

luc

didi said...

It felt like an argument with yourself -- very interesting. I like the title for this one as IOWA.

d.

luc u! said...

yes,

IOWA is a much better title.

thanks didi.

~