ELISION
How natural to flee before the natural
like women and children and rats
from the sloped decks of something
sinking like my head each night
into my ancient pillow, full of foam
nothing like the curds
the ocean kicks up in its lunar froth.
Which is what I want once more,
the ocean but not the two-thirds fraction
in which the world soaks
like a battered toe. The ocean I want
is you, your saline self,
your not quite infinite tally of cells
sloughing off, most of what
dust is. So you’re the ocean and you’re the dust.
I can’t decide. After dinner,
maybe I’ll say you
are
Through both I’ve gone
like a bullet, through both
I’ve driven wanting
just one thing: an end, cessation,
silence, the dime
moon rolling away like exact change.
In
from street vendors
horse-meat flavored ice cream
by the scoop
if only to hold
evidence of some awful fact
like a grenade or a Ronald Reagan action figure—
I threw it away
without tasting
but now the taste I imagine
is only sweet,
fills my mouth like a bowl left in the rain.
3 comments:
Paul! I first read the poem thinking the title was "Eleison" (as in "Kyrie"). Whoa! This one utterly grabs me--such a deft movement from one surprising image to the next, like tumbling down a flight of stairs that are actually piano keys. Or something like that.
Mister Mister. Wow.
"Which is what I want once more,
the ocean but not the two-thirds fraction
in which the world soaks
like a battered toe. The ocean I want
is you, your saline self,"
Is this really a draft? It is wonderful. Those lines above really touches the heart while at the same time being kind of off center. I like it!
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