“Complexity of the Ventriloquist”

The pores of my skin

Hold back the shadow

Which darkens the base

Of blonde body hairs

Cast in contrast

Against Fairness

Painted Red

Someone forgot to cut

My fingernails

I can feel their length

Splintered

And catching at a scab

As they drag

Across

The surface

I doubt those nails are clean

A Ferrier’s nail

Is draped about my neck

The silver of it

Trying to be a

Chameleon

Caught against and in-between

The rambling

And the punctual

And the perpetual

Rhythm

The drums just cheated

On the band

(my man)

Their beat still echoes

In my head

A solo gig

That leaves the silent violin

Weeping

With her bow

Shredding strings in silence

(But I feel it)

Like a heavy rain

That is sparse

Tricking you with light

But penetrating

-The cold rhythm-

That awakens the skin

A reminder of life

That we curse

Regretfully

Drops collect

On those strewn strings

Quivering and holding on

Vibrating with the

Memory of drums, yet

Pulled south

By the wails of a noiseless violin

Looking for a shadow

And

Shining in the sun

I look up

To see a tree

A canopy

Of limbs and leaves

And birds and things

I do not think

They are wet

But the tree

Is

And it sways

In Rhythm

With the man

Pedaling the old bicycle

Down the block

And the lurching

Snapping

Of the blocks

Public clock

Harmony

I take a deep breath

And let my shadows out

November 2005