WINTER 2016 SVPPLEMENT

Two Poems

there are cracks / in my praxis

Taraxacum  

 

there are cracks
in my praxis
where Purdy’s
yellow flowers
poke through
wear my working
class like a lion’s
tooth its asexual
uniformed attire
milk rubber
genetically
identical
a common
man’s odyssey
in a seed’s blow
becomes episode
weeds grow
hopeful
can I get
some musical
accompaniment
here can I get
it in my wine
can I get it
in my salad
commonplace
and edible
like me
like me,
please.

 

Saucebox

 

“Lucia is the first of Joyce's sirens.” —Carol Loeb Shloss

one’s identity is hard-won
in language of household
and letterwriting, of leaving
and leaving
it is surely the most italian of activities
to be in love with charlie chaplin
yes i wanted firms of splendour
anti-mother tongued
trampin my way round dublin

-

from trieste to northhampton it’s exhausting
still basking
in my debt to you.
why should a debtor’s daughter pay
into a shoddy pocket
for a not-yet-determined
amount of his genius
yes, i know Yes
little match girl
wants legs
better to evade

-

6 hrs a day age 22
when i was 10 how disorderly
how cross-eyed and evicted
and poor yes i cried for a month
drawing your lettrines
at 10 i could have been illuminating
instead of 13 in 3 countries
book of kells
broken at the prim shining bar
you and mine blindness
straightjacket a stage
prop like any other, body
bastardry

-

beckett’s grouchiness
would drive anyone
to a complex
his majesty’s
sour money strapped my legs for a
not-yet-determined stay
at the maison de santé
thanks sam
sorry i wasn’t into condoms
it must be the pleasure-seeking
italian lesbian in me
write me

-

little loony debt
for papa’s fête
a chair against the wall
like the real artist
bra-lined bravado
coveting giorgio’s
breast milk
illiterate in 3 languages
look what i can do
wave my arms
throw myself like a voice
about the room

-

yr blind i snip the phonelines
yr blind i snip the phonelines
fat with congrats i circumcise
unbutton your trousers, genius
raked together a wake for me
restless fin yes it’s complicated
we’re illiterate in all languages
the eyes missed their invite
but a dancer makes do