Three Poems

Hollywood Forever

Halloween came, sticky with the amniotic glow
of cheap candles and slapdash saints. We went
to the cemetery uncostumed so I could find
his naked face among the grinning skulls.
Each time he saw me, he bared his teeth.
On the cantilevered stage the fat lady shook
scared the ruffles of her tentacled dress.
When he kissed me my heels sank slowly
into the lawn’s skin. Always we moved
crushed against the crowd, a human gel
slowly gluing around us.

The Smoking Sun

Spring brought strange weather, icy grass
spreading shards on sunny sidewalks.
I was hot glass melting, cold glass molting.
To his tinny voice I played second needle,
tining the rim of my perfectly chilled skull.
A ting, a ring. Mostly I echoed back an image
I thought he wanted to hear. I mimed
translucence, played steaming icicles
with xylophone mallets. Each morning
I scratched out another caesura on the calendar,
my ever-frozen lieder.

Swing Practice

If forced to choose I prefer blunt instruments,
dull and hefty. Another day, another cheekbone
perfectly crushed, a cherry crumble garnished
with skull shells. All the offenses are minor,
according to the rationalists, who too enjoy
the pulp, choose chunky over smooth.
The pestle’s weight adds an aleatoric gleam
to the spectacle – The strike requires
surprise but only average aim, the sensible
choice for a fast woman who still throws
like a girl.