Monday, October 30, 2006

Das ist


Bad mood and bad dog and bad luck like

my broken neck or heart or head

sussing out so much bad weather

unraveling like kinked yarn by a bad,

a black cat, which summons

luck again, that diffident lover half

naked in the dark. To her

I walked below one thousand ladders

over miles of bad road

ribboned with bad directions

which wasn’t as bad

as I thought it would be

my ear pressed to the powdery wall

behind which strangers

performed badly their bad sex,

their bored adumbrations

conjuring nothing, not even the paleness

of tulips, the heat of Alabama,

the severed instant

in which your voice snapped

like a band of sound

between your phone and my phone,

impossibly distant, impossibly atonal and pale

across that bad connection

the bad things compelling

us to speak out, to end up, to say

even now my skin flecks away

like paint applied

badly, quickly to cover

some previous horror,

some bad end solved

badly, the evidence lost,

thrown out, awarded to the jury of dust.

I said it was not so

bad and it was not—

there were days when knives

of noon light sliced

the day open like sweet fruit

and there were hours

and words amounting to consolation

and entire towns

ripe with welcome

handing me their thousand mirrors,

their seven long years.

1 comment:

Willa said...

This is just lovely. I keep reading it. Thank you.