Strings Strung Together

Juaréz by Elaine DeKooning

This is the  attempt to make a fragmented poem with stolen lines from this week's poets, spliced with my own prose in places.  It's a mess, hopefully a beautiful one. *sigh* Speaking of beautiful messes, I think this picture by  Elaine DeKooning is a great companion to the ideals of beauty, fragmentation, and abstraction. _______________________________________________

A Vision

Anybody with twenty dollars can have a vision.

They can buy new moments

that seep in -

pulse beneath the skin.

Without the sun to interfere

shadows, red and orange lights 

poke through windows, like stone wings 

and they don't fit into little pretty places.

You taught me to exist without gratitude. 

Conceit leaps back into me on your wet kiss.

Bright stars in your eyes when I cut

someone down, their feelings 

would drain from their face and pool

at their feet.

I thought it was because we

were righteous. Because

I am goddamned fuckin’ beautiful.

And you saw me.

But the walking dead don't 

make me laugh. They tell me those stars

are named woodworm.

The room, this bed, and the bones of my arms,

have been found out.

I am sick in solitude, in the rain, and in the roads. . .

Last night I'd been trying my best to explain

something important. It seemed boring to apologize 

to weeds and insincere as well.

Years later, I can bring blood closer 

to the surface of my skin.

It’s a beautiful wound.