Now

Can’t open up

‘Til I’m inside out

I know you’ve got my skin

C’mon help me on out

Electric anemone

I eat my own particles

A thousand ideas for

Ocean floor articles

Houdini dash Daedalus

Fly me on out

Promise I won’t melt

I’m a bull filled with doubt

Ocean emotion

Ocean orange craze

My diving bell depth charge

Sacrificial blaze

I know the secret combination

But I’m on the inside

Can’t dial a lock

From the other side

Orange crush is

Buried fire

And the fire’s burning live

I used to be dead and

Now I’m just alive

 

(A Footnote:  The doggerel form of these verses was inspired by Kurt Cobain’s writing for Incesticide and In Utero.  I began writing punk verses in this form in 2010, and recorded them in notebooks dating 2010-2011.  Now I am adding to this collection of verses, and posting the new work here.  The work is dedicated to Thom Hunt.)

In Exquisite Stillness

Sailor’s phone buzzed on top of the dresser.  I wanted to know who it was, to sit forward in bed and peer up over the dresser…but I stayed my curiosity, and laid still.  Then I heard the light touch of her naked, hurried footsteps against the smooth wood floor of the corridor.  I laid my head back into the pillow, trying to reproduce the position I’d been in before.  She ran in with a dress in her hand, which she placed down on the dresser, exchanging it for the phone.

“Hello?” she asked, and paused. A man’s voice sounded from the tiny speaker.  Her body relaxed; she sank into one hip.

I opened my eyes completely.  I could see the curve of her spine in the lamp light.  I looked more intently.  I could see that her tattoo was a single picture, although the detail was so subtle, the light in the room so low, that I couldn’t make out the image.

“P.” She said, “I know.  I’m coming.”

She shifted to the other hip.  There was a softness, a sensuality to her movement.  I stared.

Then she didn’t move.  She stood there naked, stock still, with the phone to her ear, listening, in exquisite stillness.

(Back Door: Enter “Motionless” into the search bar.)

Waited

She stood at her dresser, opposite the foot of the bed, and switched on a lamp.  She opened an upper drawer, removed some things, and then walked back out of the bedroom, leaving her phone behind.  As she passed the head of the bed, I saw her back lit briefly by the bedside lamp I’d switched on earlier.  An elaborate, subtly colored tattoo covered most of her back.  Her hips swayed as she walked, and she disappeared into the darkness of the corridor.  A burning curiosity came over me; I wanted to know about her more than ever.  I wanted to know what the image was.  I held my breath, and waited for her return.

Get Ready

I heard the bathroom door close, then I heard footsteps.  Without knowing why, I pretended to be asleep, narrowing my eyes to slits.

Sailor walked into the room naked, holding her phone.  She crossed to the bed and kissed my forehead, then began dressing.  I watched her get ready.

Chapbook

I opened my eyes.  The room was dark.  I reached out toward the side of the bed, found a switch, and turned it.  Illuminated by the pool of light cast down by the lamp was a little chapbook resting on a linen cloth covering the nightstand.  I read the cover.

Apocryphal Verses

Upi Padaveri

Verse 8, The Future

A lizard darts his tongue, checks

The air.  My dry

Bones clutter the sand

With all the others.

I dream of a hurricane

So that bones, lifted up,

Will clack and rattle

Against the others,

The storm a celebrated

Accidental gathering,

A life at least

With some

Sound result.

Verse 7, Black Heart

What figure do my movements trace in space and time?

I go on and on:

A line

between

rooms,

redoubled

and turned,

twists and

switches back,

comes down

the steps and

unspools

onto the

street,

plus one

to the million

lines of others,

a dense

black knot,

a scribbled

fill.