Tuesday, September 12, 2006



O Steve Martin, let’s get small, both of us,

let’s slip inside that lost decade

that was all yours and even then

your white hair was white in my dreams

and I’ll bring the wreckage

of my decade, the atomic dread

which set me going, which lengthened

my bones like the day. Sleeping

I could feel it and staring

out into the infinite California summer

I could feel it. The aliens

back then always disappointed—

paunchy, covered in tinsel,

sexless from their long voyage

through the stars. They talked that way,

landing their absurd craft,

lockstepping about like arthritic loons.

This one wanted diamonds

and I had one to give

that was bigger than an Idaho potato.

The Star of India

my husband called it

before he started seeing that other woman

down at the bar

that served spaghetti

at the mythic edge of our nowhere town.

But enough of me

and all my destruction,

the rampage

in my makeshift bikini of linens, bedsheets,

anything to cover up

so much iconic embarrassment.

It’s different now

and I’m different

and the years are getting away from me

and what we feared

then, the mushroom cloud

and its fissure

turning all to ash and splinters,

seems quaint

and my long bed is lonesome without a man

and you make me

laugh like thunder

so tell me you aren’t curious,

tell me you’re not

dying to see,

tell me you never

wanted a woman

in whom you could vanish forever,

tell me no,

I dare you.


vomitingghosts said...

Paul, longtime reader, first time poster. How do you write so many beautiful poems in a week? You must not have a job, right? Hopefully you’ll never get a job again, and keep writing at such a breakneck pace for the rest of your life... Really, this is a beautiful poem. Especially the part about aliens and going on a rampage and all the small things. Have you seen Pedro Almodovar’s "Talk to Her"? I’m sure you have, but if not, watch it. About half-way through the movie there’s a silent film within the film, about eight minutes long, in black and white, looking exactly like a Charlie Chaplin movie, but it’s the most beautiful, moving thing ever. It’s called "The Shrinking Lover" and you can probably guess what happens. The music and a naked Paz Vega and the moonlight... Anyway. Your poem reminded me of it for obvious reasons if or when you see the movie. So don’t get a job, man. I’ll be one of the many people probably willing to support you with some bottled water and astronaut food to keep your nutrition up and staying healthy, not to mention your spirts.

Radish King said...

This got to me.

onlyamote said...

I love Paz Vega. Oh, and Paul's good, too.

Anonymous said...

A story about a 7 foot 6 giantess who takes over a valley http://www.lonympics.co.uk/women765partthree.htm

Anonymous said...

Thats http://www.lonympics.co.uk/ and then added onto that