(untitled)
This road, with its sharp shards of mile markers cloning
in number, lets me glide along its long black tongue, but
I just want to be swallowed whole, to rest within
the earth's stomach, digested deep enough to see
the beginning. You once told me this soil is rotting
with boredom, then quickly turned to pray over
the starving rain. Yet, from the driver's seat, the soil
seems to run wild between tips of grass, the rain
bloated-full; the road stretching still while the sky
screens a film, for my travel. A handpicked selection,
a homemade recording of two Christmas's pasted,
focusing less on the sugar cookies, shaped Santa,
the barely naked tree, and more on you in that holiday
onesie, red and crotchless--a dancing Charlie Brown.
I was now finding myself less lost in the tar stains
of road, not that the sky clipped a star show, less
worried the tires and the steering wheel and the
passenger inside were sinking into stone; the film
rewinds, starts again, skimming top-to-bottom
everything ours. I lean against the window to cool
my cheeks from the overplayed playback, from the slip-
shod reminders of my character, cut, without any role.
Alright, you’ve got me interested, so part one of the battle is over. Part two, though…what is it that’s going on, exactly? For one, the meditation—that middle bit—comes in a flash amidst all this description of the road, which leaves very little room for extrapolation. Also, you point to the notion that two Christmases are glued together, I think? It’s a cool notion, but I think, at least at this early stage, that it only complicates what you’re trying to do in the draft. Why not, for instance, just borrow from both of these episodes in the meditation without so much worrying over their temporal origin? You can always separate them again later.
ReplyDeleteAnd that bit about “that holiday / onesie, red and crotchless—a dancing Charlie Brown,” huh? Nevermind that stuff about clarity above, does Charlie Brown dance around in what I can only assume is a baby outfit with the crotch torn out? I realize this may seem a bit overbearing—and, really, that might not be too far off, but a onesie, as far as I know, is a t-shirt meant for babies with an extension past the waist that snaps around the diaper and so on. Now, if one were to concoct the image of a crotchless iteration of something like that…which is somewhat troubling, it would indicate either a design that foregoes the full enclosure of one’s shame or a modification to the same effect, either option signaling the purposeful disrobing of an extremely specific portion of the body. Really, if there’s no material below the waist, then we’re talking about a shirt, right? Whatever the case, as I understand the connotations surrounding “onesie,” I must invariably come back to the idea that they’re meant for babies and…well, I just don’t know if they can be “crotchless”…it’s just a bit strong.
I don't know Tim, I kind of like crotchless onesie Charlie Brown. I mean, nobody's ever heard of that. I'm almost tempted to go draw Charlie Brown in a crotchless onesie, but I know better.
ReplyDeleteI'm most enthralled by the start of this poem, up until the phrase "starving rain". After that I'm definitely still interested, but I think the language becomes a lot more heavy and less refined after the "yet" transition. In addition, there's something about the transition to sugar cookies that deflates some of the initial thunder of the piece, but I'm often pressured to think smaller so you're probably on the right track.
Still, I think you should run with that Crotchless onesie charlie brown bit. That's fucking poetry gold.