I feel our borrowed car
contact the car
the slightest bump
a nearly zero-
surprise, yes, shock
the other driver hit us
as Mike was shifting
he backed into him
we all disembark
look at the cars
to either car
to any person
I’m sorry, Mike says
the other driver
raises his arms, raises
his voice at Mike
This is not good
We have a problem
the other driver
in Mike’s face
demands that Mike
repeat a string of words
the other invents
I’m sorry, it was
all my fault
Mike says it
the other slaps
we walk away
|Edwin Denby [pic by Rudy Burckhardt]|
The subway flatters like the dope habit,
For a nickel extending peculiar space:
You dive from the street, holing like a rabbit,
Roar up a sewer with a millionaire’s face.
Squatting in the full glare of the locked express
Imprisoned, rocked, like a man by a friend’s death,
O how the immense investment soothes distress,
Credit laps you like a huge religious myth.
It’s a sound effect. The trouble is seeing
(So anaesthetized) a square of bare throat
Or the fold at the crotch of a clothed human being:
You’ll want to nuzzle it, crop at it like a goat.
That’s not in the buy. The company between stops
Offers you security, and free rides to cops.
A Sonnet Sequence: Dishonor
Happy in health not poor and with good friends
On the bright beach at noon I chanced to meet
The filthy double of me who attends
To secret matters I don’t care to treat.
Repulsive and halfwitted that fine morning
I started to pretend I didn’t know him
But he in fury with no word of warning
Stuck out his tongue to show me what I owe him.
His tongue licked up the sky that crumbled blackened
Sucked out my breath and peeled me like a shrimp
It stood up then majestically fecund
Death’s own bisexual self-polluting pimp.
To him, his whore, these little dreams of hate
To get my honor back I dedicate.
. . .
A lover’s home is in the facts of his dreams
Where he skins his love like a rabbit to his own screams.