Surrender

alanbergmanharknessmmdbarnett

[Daryl Barnett, m. morgan in Brian MacDonald’s ‘Time Out of Mind”, Harkness Ballet, c.1972]

Surrender

Begin with his obsession.

He tells me his rights.

His heels dig down.

Her face heats red.

It is power he wants, back-cracking,

locking the air. A plump female

dog is settled close to his feet.

The man’s knees are stiff and ready

abdomen bared,

ribs halted of flux,

arms anything but draping,

palms wide, fingers clenching

air, but long

for the back of her neck–

the weak spot behind her–

the pry of his eyes, nose, mouth.

Her feet widen into the ground

Fury lunges through bones to pelvis, solar plexus,

her  body aligned forges through his steel

air, broadened back sends her lunging arm

to grab the back of his head, clenching hair,

He muffles.

She holds his head firmly.

Her eyes stab his.

He  blinks.

“I win.”

She lets go.

Sundance

hauling-a-boat-ashore-by-monet-1864

[Hauling a Boat Ashore, Monet, 1864]

Sundance

Here we are, pods, seeds, potentials

The sun opens us, moves us,

We rotate to face our god

We are filled to our limits

We sway as the winds refresh us

We bend, twine, lean to our source

Our warmth, our light, our life

Our very design is yours, sun

The vibrancy of our colors is emboldened in your washing glow

We dance under your blanket of energy, your covering of life

We endure rich and yellow

Succulent fullness is ours, oh sun

Strobe Light

gracias-por-tu-valiosa-amistad-gonzalo-fernandez

[Gonzalo Fernandez]

Strobe Light

A bowl of thumbtacks spilled on my desk

scattering and rolling and shaking.

I had to pick them up.

I reached to the far right corner of my desk

settling around an upright tack

with thumb and index finger of my right hand

already thinking ahead to what my left hand could do.

As my right hand moved to the bowl

to deposit the thumbtack from the far right corner

my left hand reach for an overturned tack

rolling to an upright position.

My fingers flipped the tac to the middle of my palm.

Moving over the mouth of the bowl

my left hand hollowed and released

the tack to gravity. Plink.

I was more confident now.

I directed my hands two at a time.

I saw the two action going on

at the same time. I gave the a rhythm.

Like a heartbeat, which is involuntary.

A man with a soft cotton shirt came into the room.

My eyes followed him in and unbroken gaze.

H walked in an ellipse in front of my desk.

My eyes moved in ellipses

as my hands picked up thumtacks,

many more still to go.

The man began to talk. I comprehended,

I nodded. Like a heartbeat, which is involuntary.

I had to get up all the thumbtacks.

A small boy pulled at my shirt, pushing

between my rhythmic hands. The man kept talkin

and walking. I kept nodding and

comprehending and following him with my eyes

as my mechanical hands picked up the thumbtacks.

The small boy reach inside my shirt

and took my left nipple in his right hand and

twirled it. This was his nipple from birth.

My nipple twirled as I watched the man, eye-

to-eye for greater communication. I knew I

must pick up all the thumbtacks as I

nodded and comprehended,

like a heartbeat, which is involuntary,

before I could stop

the plant on my desk from moaning.

It was crying and withering

from thirst and

it was my

fault, my fault.

Subculture

wheels-of-fortune-arman-1995

[Wheels of Fortune, Arman, 1995]

Subculture

The jiggle of juke box blight

fuddles  under the curdle

TV, a jingle-fest hung above

a bobble game of balls–

green skin, wood sky, fake shack

You put it to the corner pocket.

A stripe flirts to the hole,

pocking drop that robs the other

poker of the eight-ball win.

Jackpot.

I’m a bitsy rodent rolling down

a subcutaneous bole, blackened cool,

mole-happy to be popped

underground (dangling sound still

shredding the ceiling).  Lane after

satiny lane, my only home.

This slow decline joggles me

to others bulking

in polo-pelted queues,

bowling and rumbling below a pyrex window.Play us more.

Drop quarters and we’ll run

to the station juggling for position,

smiling for favors. You stare

in and watch us fuss, reach a fond and filthy hand

to fling us up to shacked-up form–

culture in a Petri dish

only to b cracked.

Stillborn

The Moonlight Bed by Jacek Yerka 2002

[The Moonlight Bed, Jacek Yerka, 2002]

Stillborn

The moon hangs down

nearly breaking the dark

membrane of sky.

Halfway here and halfway

out there, in some wide

pulse of space beyond a skin of sky

a scrim of charcoal, chalked tissue, distended moon hangs

as if some creature, fingering

a luminous gel-stone, lost

interest in the thing and dropped it.

So the slighted moonstone pleads

pendulous to the pull of the ground.

And the whole sky labors

like a woman to drop

a life from her body.

But it cannot get

down, netted as it is in wet

skin,

cannot sluice through that

indifference into

this.

Strobe Light

my left eye

[I Desire, mickey morgan,2015]

Strobe Light

mickey morgan

A bowl of thumb

tacks spilled on my desk

scattering and rolling and shaking.

I had to pick them up.

I reached to the far right corner of my desk

settling around an upright tack

with thumb and index finger of my right hand

already thinking ahead to what my left hand could do.

As my right hand moved to the bowl

to deposit the thumbtack from the far right corner

my left hand reached for an overturned tack

rolling to an upright position.

My fingers flipped the tack to the midddle of my palm.

Moving  over the mouth of the bowl

my left left hand hollowed and released

My finger flipped

the tack to gravity. PLINK!

I was more confident now.

I directed my hands two at a time.

I saw the two actions going on

at the same time. I gave them a rhythm,

like a heart beat, which is involuntary.

A man with a soft cotton shirt comes in the room

My eyes follow him in an unbroken gaze.

He walks in an ellipse in front of my desk.

My eyes move in ellipses

as my hands pick up thumbtacks

many more still to go.

The man begins to talk. I comprehend,

I nod. Like a heartbeat, which is involuntary.

He keeps walking. My eyes rove in ellipses.

I have to get up all the thumbtacks.

A small boy pulls at my shirt, pushing

between my rhythmic hands. The man kept talking

and walking. I keep nodding

and comprehending and following him with my eyes

as my mechanical hands pick up the thumbtacks.

The small boy reaches inside my shirt

and takes my left nipple in his right hand.

He twirled it. This was his nipple from birth.

His nipple twirled as I watched the man, eye-

to-eye for greater communication. I knew I

must pick up all the thumbtacks as I

nodded and comprehended,

like a heartbeat, which is involuntary,

before I could stop

the plant on my desk from moaning.

It was crying and withering

from thirst

and it was my fault my fault.

Spring

banyan

[Banyan Tree]

Spring

–mickey  morgan

The air sits thick and wet with city dust

till wind bewilders pollen to  a state

of need to multiply and agitate.

Airy transports ride the smothering  gusts

confronting flesh with layers of spawning must.

A cough of lacquered air becomes a drape.

prone and seeping into lips–soft rape.

The gaping throat compresses as in lust.

The dust collects and threatens to corrode,

fertilizing lungs with rusting black.

Deep it cries, a fertile, wounded cry.