AMY BETH GOLDEN

It is not that ruminating child
you purport to occupy
the entices the abject
carnivals of lethargy
seething like wayfarers
in my ocean spine

Your furnace stipulates
coarse packets of winter brine
A message follows:

Gazing your heart
returns and is burgeoned
with tallow  .   A window reclines
content with silver
Talismans of pine
        endeavor to harness your mirror

They cannot

I am ocean-eyed and river
carried                             You are
raven haired festooned
with miracles
Talons emerge from the sky.

NIGHT BEHIND THE REVEREND'S DESK

For you she is many  .  is extaordinary
commandeering beauty
with every glance

The leaf like presence
                      of your vigilante

obvious in abattoirs
accorded a jubilant day

For you she is woven
and lays on the dais in wait.

.

Adramelech shouted  .  the
only voice operative
         'the house is in flames
          secure the wanton'

And you fold it then
in the whiskey of your body
          in your ambient skin

waking in the ancient morning
looking for him  .  his name

The hair and the mirror
the chill of the floor
when she came.
 

A HAT FOR DASHIELL

The wings of the servants
and forest hats.

Oh  romantic perigee how am I
to salvage even your circus tent

The clowns have escaped with the best
of your rigging
                                and the geek
has turned
his eyes on the Great Zildaff

Pony me to Rome or south
St. Louis

Even the bride who gave me children
is grafting hats
onto the rubes
                                  faster than

I can sling them
onto the rack.

POEM WITH SNOW AND SATIN

The snow descends the spiral
tendrils of the pine
easing toward the frozen earth
like a meek avalanche

And there  .  you discern through the glass
a woman
whose blouse (she wears a greatcoat)
You know is satin or blue sky silk
by the way she purses

her lips to the packets of winter dust
striking her face        her eyes
                                    striking her face

She furrows on the burdened concrete
lines of departure
follow her
           gaze to her spine
strung like a bow  .  taut with wire. 

Spring Fashion

Have you seen her costume
(Mucho chic)

A chiffon number
with wrought iron sequins
buttressed by giant penises

It isn't designed for
         walking

In fact no motion at all
is feasible

She just stands there in this
creation, writhing her fingers
looking incredible.

SECOND MAGNITUDE

With her scissoring fiercely through the
star charts, I half expected the eastern
hemisphere to erupt in comets of protest.
On the other half, I expect my best straight
razor, with the tortoise shell casing and
the insignia of the wolf cult, to be dull
in the morning and mean and reticent for
my silence.
She has successfully regrouped the stars
of Orion into a semblance of our landlord.
By the first of the month, she says, he
will fold over the horizon and begrudge
the tenants of Antwerp.

CHIMES

It is a calm yellow sun
that cajoles the air

                     to vanish

You inhale fibers
of the dog

and a wiser night has fallen
from the circus

sky          onto the dust
                of a thousand saws.

It is a woman who wakes you
all your life.

Dance Poem

Grandma is so intelligent
her incisor teeth
                  remain diligent

after 14 years
in the sod.

THE PEWTER VASE

Believing in another season
revealing wings to small
                                        animals

                    and claws to the sky
         
                    Your pharmaceutical precaution
shattered by the window rock
hurled in envy

Lace will document (eventually)
the myriad lives you've lead
to this conclusion:

     The ugly women
      pursue the ugly men

      I am entranced by rails
saying little to the moon.

                   

PILLARS OF STEEPLE WINE

A particle of nonchalance
fastidious in impulse

whining in maturation

approaching yet another
oblivious dawn.

With her languid mouth and crinoline
she has extant

covers the bed in a lisp

She is perfection
       with a broken tooth.

THE SKULL . FLOCCULENT

Cicadas construct in the bones
of his face

rag huts and wicker palaces

applying to a sturdy tooth
a patina of luxuriant eyes
apart from avarice

          in colors of kerosine

and hover obdurately
within the dome

of the human continent.

WALDROP'S YOUNGEST DAUGHTER

The mechanics of the thing
were shrewd . almost liturgical

When the flick let up
there was a rawness
in the air
as if we had all been
slightly butchered
             giggling at a small cut
             another gash

taken in summer stride.

A kiss on the lips
and some bitching
in the parking lot

And everyone felt young
and kind of silly
as if a carousel
              had broken down
              had spun out

in the warm evening.

And we picked ourselves up
shaking our heads incredulously
and grimaced all the way
deep into town.

GASOLINE HARVEST

She entices with solidarity
the blue green windows
        of the truck

And the wheels lock passing
avatars of white sleep

She is deliciously sane
casting only minor glances
at familiars
        abounding in air

As with the tremulous
day watch
peril grimaces (weary with joy)
spent with stars.

SONG (FOR POETS)

"Henry Kanabus.  The first thing you notice about his eyes is they
are Mars Blue.  The first thing you notice about his verse is:  Mars
Blue.  And they are thrilling reflections of one another.  When the
Titles flash I always pay attention and the work moves.  It has the
respirations of an elegant Polish film;  one doesn't know why it
should, but it does."  -Ed Dorn

On his previous collection:  FLOODLIGHTS

"A lovely, strong book;  fine affirmation and record of the
ongoing interior life ... An Ear That Hears."   -Anselm Hollo

                                "Very strange and fine."
                                        -Phillip Whalen    



His hand introduces
a spool of ballerinas

The black mane flies
and wings bend

The blind wind
fuses on the two lane.