Wednesday, June 01, 2011

mcdviii

Riffling Its Flesh

     and doesn’t Giacometti make you want to slip an Ingres girl a feel?
                                                                              —James Schuyler

I’ve always had a thing for skinny.
And this has kept me busy; always
wondering how to get there.   The
cloudy sea casts its spell; a lullaby
or diversion; a vacation of the mind.

But then there were the exceptions.
Like the kid from the video store who
reminded me of Buddha.   I like the
pressure created by leaving the door
ajar, the melody it sings to the shush-

ing sea.   I can’t remember how it
all went down, but it definitely went
down; in the apartment I turned a
closet into an office with a garden
view.   Back when I used to move

a lot I’d occasionally get rid of
refrigerator magnets in fell swoops.
Toss the lot into the can along with
dated prints, like Toulouse-Latrec
or Escher’s impossible stairwell.

I got a waterbed, a gift from an
ex.   It sprung a leak on a stubbled
skater-kid liked to do drag.   He lit a
guilty smoke for each sogged towel
and then we learned how to patch it.