The Fourth.

for marsha

 

 

 

Just

how lovely these sparklers are

burning to an inch of my finger. Everywhere a rocket

taking off,

their surging archetypal energies

released. And me, wanting just to sweep

the blown strings away like some

extraordinary drool. In the middle

of my suffering

 

O excellent insistently,

we bacame lovers. Fucked by the firewood.

Ate the blackened bratwurst

from our George Foreman grill. Entered

the room of the muzzled persona;

the final few cries of the vengeful

wrestler.

Was it so long ago that the

Sheik threw that dangerous fireball

into the eyes of Bobo Brazil? I make

observations from a distance

of the things, now, that excite

my lust and depravity.

But I hate you.

Hate you for leaving me. And if that

sounds so throughly unreasonable

I had written poems about our

togetherness. Good mindful poems

full of custom and pious amenities.

The last few,

 

those overwrought with

the exploding bleeding heart, I have promised

to go back and alter

the endings

of.

Reviews

[Cory Barrett]

I really love reading your work. I mean you are really, really good.

[escherflight]

'Good mindful poems full of custom and pious amenities' ? You make them sound almost bland. I cannot imagine that you would write in such a way. I'm pretty certain that even these would be like fireworks. Love the final stanza, full of dignity.

[W.k.kortas]

I think the wise Diego has hit the nail quite squarely--there is an unusual emotional ferment bubbling below the surface (like, as Diego also alludes to "these sparklers... burning to an inch of my finger") but never overwhelming the piece. In the hands of a lesser writer, this could and likely would degenerate into rant, but not so here; it remains powerful without being overpowering.

(As an aside, I see your Shiek and Bobo Brazil and raise you a Pampero Firpo and a Ernie "The Big Cat" Ladd.)

[jacob erin-cilberto]

wow, dana...you never cease to amaze me with your work

"go back and alter the endings of"
those poems for which we want different endings, those relationships of same.

and wow, somebody else who remembers bo bo brazil...damn...those were the days.

i really like your oxymoron of "extraordinary drool"

i read that and inadvertently wiped my mouth.

your poems even make me react physically.
this poem is a "Crusher"----(remember him)

thanks for this morning journey...

made me go back to a couple different memories.

[Emily B]

i guess endings can be written any way we want, edited and revised util they suit us

who is to know?

[Tree]

So potent, this piece. It flowed, too, dangerously close to a "too big to control" explosion; but it didn't explode the way these things it which you speak always seem to do in poem, no. More like a, controlled fire, or a controlled fireworks show, as your poem, alludes to. And that makes perfect sense; the beauty of all that ''fireworks'' sometimes, and sadly so, has a life expectancy... A finite amount of / black powder.

Perfectly expressed, brother...