montage (penance locked in 8 x 8)

17 Jul

————

montage (penance locked in 8 x 8)

 

and almost-everyone’s uncle al yells out from across the room,

“mary, quit pirouetting through the place before

one of these rotten motherfuckers steals your

tupperware!”

he gets the party rolling

talks back in the day

like the dermatologist of a muse of greek antiquity

he fills the holes of his memory with wine:

fischer came to ny to learn chess and hustling

an ersatz madness

as always, he notices me

i’m playing my game with a ghost

and as always, i’m losing

a knight on the side i will not abide;

he says,

the only job you’ve got in this life is to keep all your teeth

and i’m already a few behind

shortchanged by a bit of too much experience too soon,

and when asking about the saints

he invariably informs you that

gangsters like Harpo best

because he knew how to keep his mouth shut;

when talking ardor or exaltation

he mumbles something about birds

then says that love is nothing but

a clap-trap cunt

turning you blind as soon as you get inside.

and as always i’m playing my game with a ghost

trying to describe the one across the room

for al’s sake

for mine as well

auto-da-fé

soon they’ll notice too

her eyes are dark

obsidian

ancient

amour fou

her eyes glimmer

i see where soul ends

deep in that dark

like metal turned to vine

creating carnivorous arcs

clawing, clasping on

then going in

until finding a turbid home there dressed as a catacomb

in its bareness                in its bareness

i tremble and concede

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Jack Tsoy Tumult

Morose Pontifications and Other Poetic Ramblings


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