earthwork

 

 

 

I lied.

I did know you in another life.

The one we shared with Faust,

Freddy Krueger and the love bug.

But truth be told, there are other

things to decorate a  family room

with than souls, trophies, ribbons

you won when both of us could still

run. That Barbie and Ken Verd-antique

when they were both Romans

and conquerors.

I have heard the rumblings of evil.

This proclamation; the Orphism, the

oscine songbird with those specialized

omens. I know the tang taste of Crest

the sting of a Listerine lip. Your hips

swinging back and forth between beliefs.

We were savages and savages dare not

hold hands. We take bites from each others

bosom. Inhale each others vapors, stinks

like the ceiling fan of some

Egyptian god.

Yet unsaved by the memories of childhood.

Of red wagons with those dark alluvial markings,

the flow of electric current we dare not ever

type over. Now we are both overgrazed.

The large cows of tenderness have sat on

our legs/. The poems, far more dangerous

when they are cornered, are as inviting

as the bold cliffs. Out of love ,

you and I and samurai:

Let's jump off here  together.

Reviews

[Adam Whitworth]

You are one of the few writers here who has great potential

[writing mojo]

Again you clip from photo alum nostalgia and some how connect the human condition, God, and penitence into the pop culture after birth of our drama...You only you dana can go from stanzas about Freddy Krueger and Faust and later connect descriptive self reflections to ponder on...I love what you do with inspiration and I think of you sometimes in between those shadow cast boards of condemned Detroit homes. Your light is from the teleprompter of strive and betrayal and it's equally well spoken...thank you dana you truly are an architect without archetype..

[W.k.kortas]

If you are of...a certain age, the invocations of family rooms, Crest and Listerine (and the subtle insertion of everyone's favorite NASA-inspired orange drink) hit just a little bit harder. This is a seamless inter-weaving of classical hat-tips and modern allusion, where Faust and Freddy Krueger walk together without nary a hitch. This is the good stuff, the stuff the barman hides on the top shelf.

[Marie Anzalone]

Have you read Arundhati Roy's "The God of Small Things?" She talks about loss as a "person-shaped hole in the universe."

and I sense that all the visual reminders on earth do not fill a half-empty home with missed laughter and voice and feetsteps. My god, if ever I wanted to jump on a plane and go show up on someone's doorstep uninvited, it is right now.

Just remember that some things are woven through our warp and weft too tightly to be excised. reincarnation appears real and a Creator appears false. Which is to say, we always ever only had to find our own way. If you do pick up the sword, make sure that the tip is pointed in the right direction. And know exactly why you are doing it.

[K. Louis]

"We were savages and savages dare not
hold hands. We take bites from each others
bosom. Inhale each others vapors, stinks
like the ceiling fan of some
Egyptian god." -- woooooowheeee!