Two Poems
Stoma
The mouth, perhaps excreting sound like bone
through gums, pauses. Pause with it, the excretion
not the unpausable mouth, unpausable even when you
trouble it paused. The bone, sharp in places and
dull most often, continues its movement. The bone singular mimics
waste or water. It continues because you say so, voice
prehensile in nature, authorial despite rumors to the contrary. Anyway
move backward now. Move and in the wrong direction.
What does move mean, what variety excretion? What color
gums? Plaque, decay, diminishment. Dimensions. Pause to consider
lips an arbitration. Further backward now, some
say, as sound distills. Finally. Arrived less than stumbled. The mouth
(unpausable) stops sound. Understand when you write mouth, you mean
guilt of perception, that oldest influenza, and when
you write sound, you mean light. Where does it go? Does it traipse? That
bathroom of light and sound shameful. One hears confusion,
aria of an ammonia, antiseptic and further
backward inconclusive. Sediment occurs in the between
space, the plaque-colored bone, and you do not say anything
anyone does not already know. Bore in this manner. Even
yourself. (Of being sound) (mouth and body) (unsounded
both) (the same but) (how they stretch) (you) (you
no more than) (sound). At this point, sharpened against
pumice with its bleeds, mouth discovers a middle. Mouth perhaps
at that moment bleating. That scene in. Dramatic tension produced by someone
inconsequential. Emotional conflict arrives in sound. The arrival,
incontinent as ever, stirs passion. Refuse to define terms. Underneath,
prehensile in all senses, after middling as the unpausable mouth
resumes. Backward to fuck with notions of time, though notions
unheard to the unpausable and conceived by you, that
paunch-shoulder, that tummy-footed, that. You wear a wristwatch and mouth.
Disgusted they (sound and you) gaze and in the wrong direction. Low blood
pressure as production begins. Drink water through mouth, over bone,
excrete excess. If properly hydrated expect a light coloring, almost
opalescent in light. If unproperly. Almost unpausable and unproper, the mouth
directs. There is sea glass. There is always sea glass. There is
something to be said for the sharp of sea glass against gums. Dull in places,
blood in others. Sound, when stretched around foreign object,
mimics. Give us this day our daily mouth. Further backward still, camera
tracking movement, you do not return to guilt
despite its allure, its fingers and toes, its (necessarily incomplete). Sibilance
an inside joke. The pastel shade as production continues
backward. Anyway. What is there to say, really, about a mouth, gums, lips?
You struggled to brush your teeth as a child. What a production assistant would call
today, perhaps, disease. What they (mouth and you) would stretch
ungainly around. What they would in the wrong direction.
Some Varieties of Monster
Like mystery at Loch Ness, I conduct investigations into the David of it all. One piece of evidence borrowed, one blue, one confesses, one makes self-deprecating jokes. Bored already while paintings bleed. What else? Phlebotomy a decent career. I need sonar, a boat, $100,000 of cryptid-hunting equipment before ridges with distinct markings appear. They call for rigorous study in the summer. Long cat-legs of sunlight, enough witnesses to provide statistically significant data. Additional thirty-five millimeter cameras capture nothing: dead friends’ names in a phone. Facial tics. It’s Monday and I can’t afford eyebrows. Mirrors offer enjoyment over a lake and the small, sharp noise of vermin. We boil water, excitement turning to whiskers. We eat lunch. Results inconclusive. Doctors say spindle and appendage. What’s an appendage, I ask, using computerized enhancement to uncover
(interlude on some other varieties of monster)
the tendency of sadness to consolidate consonant and process most
knuckle tattoo safety pin, ink no enemies but
a minor internet celebrity named Mr. SuboxoneTM no
enemies address the Jesus Chrysler in the room
abolish teeth abolish cars abolish time and space
when I die leave my body to the meek
animals that sound sinister like crow or Malaki.
Search
court testimony: misdemeanor possession, delicate crown moulding, no jail. Later in the season, as heat goes viral, I find myself on the brink of a scientific name. Jimmy Buffet’s 1979 single “Fins” released two years after the Psychic Seven International strip and chant toward Nessie. A face in a camera at the Natural History Museum. Fossil records show I descend from asymptotic heroin addiction. World Wildlife Foundation eat your heart out. Matt taught me to take McDonald’s fries and dip them in McDonald’s shake. What pleasure. Matt hasn’t died though he might as well. I haven’t had a Big Mac in a long time. Heard that on TV and life now eats turkey thigh. Place a fish inside a fish. We report no further credible sightings of myself.
Cover image: Loch Ness Monster: Sturgeon's photograph. A photograph that allegedly showed the Loch Ness monster, 1934. The image, known as the “surgeon's photograph,” was later revealed to be a hoax. Image sourced from Britannica.