The Addict
The smooth gray surface
of the pills you swallow
reflect sunlight from
their yellow bottle,
all pharmacy-wrapped,
gold plastic,
cracking in heat.
Your fingers melt them
before you lift them to your lips
where they harden,
cold cubes on your
tray of teeth.
Your breath's dry ice;
strange underworld steam
seeps from your nostrils,
helpless dragon
running from the night.
Your secrets scream
from your tongue--
odd leaps of light
bouncing from wall to wall.
Fishing
Wingless, she stands high in her canoe,
her fingers trying to hook clouds
swimming by, slippery fish.
Her indirect line falls short
but she thrusts up her arms,
trying to reach shiny leaves,
straining to hear the music
on the other side of the sun.
She collects questions on a rope,
trophy fish she reviews.
She envies the alligator--
it seizes the chance to dash
to another place
beyond the one she sees.
Wingless, she sits in tow
Watching the moon grow,
primp himself all about her--
Oh, its bright knowledge! Curse its evil grin!
Knotted Heat
Your porchlight stretches,
jolts, bolts, bounces
into my eyes
through the rearview mirror
as I cut through moonless darkness,
this starless night,
not understanding
why I hear you screaming,
screaming my name
at odd hours,
even when we're miles apart.
My head jolts
to the screaming in my brain,
my brain in knots
at the top and front
of my half-dead head.
The clock's tinning ticking
ticks in the knotted parts
of my brain like a crazy
too-fast pulse,
and the pain
drives me insane.
Stop screaming. I love you,
but can't live with this screaming
won't last long
unless the knots slip loose.
please let go the constricting noose,
so my biting brain
will rest easy.
Morning of the Shark
The giant fish sliced water
slick as a vulture through air,
gliding, making its own music--
like wind through reeds
at the edge of an early morning storm--
melodies only it detects
as if all other beings
were sleeping.
Its infamous jaws hidden,
it holds forward its opaque black eyes,
no shine at all, dark marble under thick wax.
Swimming faster, its dorsal fin
tips just below the surface,
cold water displacing currents into waves
as it moves
towards rhythms unfamiliar,
its brain detecting prey
from vibrations in its nose and sides.
It nears the beach,
flies through water,
detecting shadows on the surface
swimming about in morning sun.
It lunges upward,
while underside exposing
little black--both jaws drop,
displaying serrated teeth:
head out of water, the gnash,
the wound, the hurt, the kill,
and the swim
casually continues,
jaws normal again,
hidden beneath lips, flesh.
Its tail and "wings" helping it steer
a course less fierce,
water rushing through gills
no signals coming forth,
the beach miles behind it,
this creature of evolutionary perfection.
Are you the lion of the ocean,
your silent roar echoing through
your domain, that silent music?
Fear-Infinite
I hated when we'd curve
around the towering wall,
the car wheels screeching--
and, then, the single lane bridge.
You never knew
if someone
would meet you
in the middle.
Paper Children
Through wet windows
the streetlights shimmer,
blue stars on the second story level,
sparkling over houses
where the only children
are paper hanging
in dusted frames
on living room walls.
Parents gaze at them--
these bright stars
in the darkness of distance.
|
Maura Gage