Sunday, October 2, 2011

Complexity of the Ventriloquist

 “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
And catching at a scab
As they drag
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
Caught against and in-between
The rambling
And the punctual
And the perpetual

The drums just cheated
On the band
(my man)
Their beat still echoes
In my head
A solo gig
That leaves the silent violin
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

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
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
And it sways
In Rhythm

With the man
Pedaling the old bicycle
Down the block
And the lurching
Of the blocks
Public clock
I take a deep breath
And let my shadows out

November 2005

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