gull

 

 

I.    Bemused by

II.   how similar Plath and Hughes would later sound

III.  to it's 'core tore and flung cloud'.

IV.  But my birds intrude, intrude thru the mesh failure

V.   and I can see the delicious appealing to one of my

      bodily senses.

 

Rising, thick as a firmament sky.

Not the devil nor his glands can skin back

this disguise of pleasure. I am fineness

 

full of treasure, corpulent

as a juke box balloon.

Empowered in my tiny skin.

 

Though determined as the figure on a ships bow,

my every breath the conductor, the boatswain biting

at his discharge. And the gulls in their flabbergast whites

 

sounding their organized shrill. Flocculent mayhem.

They pass without my notice and I pass without theirs.

This humongous antique

 

wingless, flightless, barely able to run.

Kicked apart by some raging giant heartbreak.

And they say Jupiter and Mars

 

will be visible if only God allows the hull,

boiling in it's arrogant rigging,

a gulls wings

 

to be beyond.

Reviews

[Marie Anzalone]

"Flocculent mayhem" may be one of the best phrases I have heard in a long time, and describes perfectly the image I get from your work here- those pesky intrusive thoughts, the flock of fine fuckery we must sail through in order to get where we are going. It can be hard to see past the wingbeats, but when you can see the destination, you can at least realistically judge distances, set sextants, and do many other fine things with your time. Your description of joy, of corpulence straining to break through too-tight skin, is marvelous as well. One always wonders about interior lives of poets- evne more fascinating, the couple as you say. WE can never know them, only what they left behind. Now it is different- we have more tools to either connect or reject. I start to feel I can size up a soul on here with a few, and yours, my friend, is a shining, beckoning, beacon of a star.

[Tree]

The imagery you've induced from inside of me was almost too hard for me to reproduce, meaning essentially I have never seen anything from which to help me conjure it up. (I found myself using Pink Floyd the movie like visuals). It's funny how we can see ourselves, imagine ourselves, sometimes trudging through these fantastic landscapes; creatively it helps to give us perspective. This for me was a monument poem, built, from the inside out.

Excellent work, Dana

[Emily B]

breathless at your every word

[Corset]

sigh. This has sexual undercurrents that stand me on the edge of my bottom lip where I have almost bitten through, lol. I love this write Dana.