Sunday, April 7, 2013

7 apr 2013

Civil Space

I feel our borrowed car
contact the car
behind us

the slightest bump
a nearly zero-
impact collision

surprise, yes, shock

Mike believes
the other driver hit us
as Mike was shifting
into reverse

doesn’t believe
he backed into him

we all disembark
look at the cars

no damage
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
repeats himself
pushes himself
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
Mike’s shoulder

we walk away

Edwin Denby [pic by Rudy Burckhardt]

The Subway

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.

. . .

5 [excerpt]

A lover’s home is in the facts of his dreams
Where he skins his love like a rabbit to his own screams.

1 comment:

  1. it sounds like you guys found every rude Californian in the bunch. Jeez.

    Edwin Denby is a piece of work!! Thanks for this wonderful blog.