Tags: poetry

tofu

Manatee Moment

THIS IS THE MANATEE MOMENT.
LET ME FLOAT ON DIAGNOSES,
EIGHT HOURS IN YOUR DESPERATE PORT.
WHAT WAS MY HISTORY AGAIN?

LET ME FLOAT ON DIAGNOSES.
A HOLLOW LEG FOR AN OCEAN.
WHAT WAS MY HISTORY AGAIN?
A SALTWATER BIRTH OF NOTHING.

A HOLLOW LEG FOR AN OCEAN.
EIGHT HOURS AND NOTHING DELIVERED.
A SALTWATER BIRTH OF NOTHING,
LEGS SQUEEZED LIKE MAKING ORANGE JUICE.

EIGHT HOURS AND NOTHING DELIVERED,
THE CARGO THAT GOES UNLOADED.
LEGS SQUEEZED LIKE MAKING ORANGE JUICE,
BEACHED ON THE WAVES OF INNER TIDES.

THE CARGO THAT GOES UNLOADED,
WATERLOGGED ANTI-DÉNOUEMENTS,
BEACHED ON THE WAVES OF INNER TIDES.
I GAVE ORAL BIRTH THIS MORNING.

WATERLOGGED ANTI-DÉNOUEMENTS:
CLIMB THE STAIRS LIKE FISH GROWING LEGS.
I GAVE ORAL BIRTH THIS MORNING;
IT RESEMBLED FRESH ORANGE JUICE.

2010 Bruce V. Bracken

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tofu

SNEEZING BACKWARDS

SNEEZING BACKWARDS I SNEEZED BACKWARDS, LIKE THE VACUUM OF SPACE, LIKE THE LIGHTBULB THAT BURNS OUT IN YOUR HEAD WHEN YOU SLAM IT TOO HARD AGAINST THE FLOOR. THIS WAS HOW I TRIED TO DISPROVE MYSELF. LIKE THE LIGHTBULB THAT BURNS OUT IN YOUR HEAD, I TRIED TO DE-CONTROL MY SUBSTANCES. THIS WAS HOW I TRIED TO DISPROVE MYSELF, TO AVOID YOUR POP-PSYCH TOILET CLICHÉS. I TRIED TO DE-CONTROL MY SUBSTANCES, WORKED HARD TO BE YOUR BEST DROWNING VICTIM. TO AVOID YOUR POP-PSYCH TOILET CLICHÉS, I CAR-BOMBED MY SOUL IN YOUR SQUALOR CULT. WORKED HARD TO BE YOUR BEST DROWNING VICTIM, SO I COULD IMPRESS YOU WITH MY BLUE LIDS. I CAR-BOMBED MY SOUL IN YOUR SQUALOR CULT. DIDN'T I STICK OUT LIKE A GOOD MANDRILL? I TRIED TO IMPRESS YOU WITH MY BLUE LIDS. I WAS THE ONE THEY LEFT AT THE BOTTOM. DIDN'T I STICK OUT LIKE A GOOD MANDRILL? I WAS JUST THE FRESH MEAT FOR YOUR SANDWICH. I WAS THE ONE THEY LEFT AT THE BOTTOM, THE LATEST STANDARD-ISSUE POLOCK JOKE. I WAS JUST THE FRESH MEAT FOR YOUR SANDWICH, THE UNSUNG BOSTON WAITRESS' REQUIEM. © 2010 BRUCE V. BRACKEN

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tofu

VISCOUS GOD LOSES HIS GRIP

VISCOUS GOD LOSES HIS GRIP

So I fell down 3rd St.,
gathered a skin of dirt.
Did that prove me a loss?
Left me marionette.

Gathered a skin of dirt,
no strings to hang me up,
leave me marionette.
Brake failure, burning shoes.

No strings to hang me up,
I'm the running scissors.
Brake failure, burning shoes,
clumsy on Hermes' feet.

I'm the running scissors,
cutting the dirty air,
clumsy on Hermes' feet.
Did I lose you last mile?

Cutting the dirty air,
sidewalk a bloody blur-
did I lose you last mile,
viscous inertia god?

Sidewalk a bloody blur
along the melting street-
viscous inertia god,
the bolt sparks for me now.

Copyright 2010 Bruce V. Bracken

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tofu

New Poem

UNTITLED


Maybe you're wondering why I cling to your wake;
why I never hear above the wind between my pin feathers;
tell me your theories. I cannot explain myself.

I'm ignorant of how I look in my nightly whirlings,
no matter how many mirrors weigh correctly.
See if you can see me a way out of this tightness.

I started late in all things, in this lead balloon
race against myself. Through these lead contact
lenses, I've absorbed nothing into my half-life.

Maybe you're thinking that my magnetic brain
gives me the wrong directions, and I've been
trying you on like prosthetic wings that won't reject me.

Understand: I was born a prosthetic, cannibalizing.
It's what you do, when you're only two-thirds of the
way to yourself, and a broken time machine.

Understand: I've never been good at flying machines.
They consist of drinking straws and cup lids, and I
only end up crashing into other people's breakfasts.

I did not mean to salt myself at so young an age,
but let's sing a eulogy to my naked, sabotaged arms.
They float above me now, banging on horizons,

like sparrows trapped in an attic window.

2010 BRUCE V. BRACKEN

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tofu

Nightmare Room, Part II

In the nightmare room,
the tongues of the living
are redistributed throughout
the cemeteries of Chicago.

In the nightmare room,
a pedophile prophet gets
the keys to the city
and a temple of hatred.

In the nightmare room,
the school safety czar
measures a sixth-grade ass
knuckle by knuckle.

In the nightmare room,
the attorney general
calls the truth cowardice
and he calls ignorance strength.

In the nightmare room,
green power lets turtles
drown in slick oily platitudes
so as to not be too pure.

In the nightmare room,
blue power points fingers
between stand-up routines
anywhere but at himself.

In the nightmare room,
SWAT teams make on the
spot psych evaluations
on the newly jobless.

In the nightmare room,
I'm trying to wake up
underwater, while doctors
ask me to sign with my eyes closed.

In the nightmare room,
the community organizer
slips a rubberstamped vote
in with the no code papers.

In the nightmare room,
I run from blue corpses,
in their red and purple
pointy hats. Please let me wake up.

In the nightmare room,
I'm a blue cadaver, looking at
my blue heart, dripping strange juice
to feed a rotting fruit tree.

Please, let me wake from this
nightmare room; let me feel
my fresh red heartbeat.
Let me hear my red tongue sing freedom.

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sometimesiwishthaticoulddrive

Untitled Pantoum

Untitled Pantoum

This is my road-loving psychopomp.
Lick her titanium like candy.
Chicago punk on the radio,
apartment yard by the interstate.

Lick her titanium like candy,
bottle-green like gas station promise.
Apartment yard by the interstate:
backseat car window astronomy.

Bottle-green like gas station promise,
lullabies of radio static.
Backseat car window astronomy,
call-letter Ks become Ws.

Lullabies of radio static.
Is this the new desert state ahead?
Call-letter Ks become Ws,
as we cross the bridge to Illinois.

Is this the new desert state ahead?
There's no one in the apartments now.
As we cross the bridge from Illinois,
I turn my back on the fixed machine.

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tofu

Cedar Oil (Sleep and Wear)

They sprayed again this week
to kill the parasites.
It's a cedar oil cloud,
a two-hour settle -down,

to kill the parasites.
Are we exorcised yet?
A two-hour settle-down.
Let's obey the rip-off.

Are we exorcised yet?
Thick as a plastic lie.
Let's obey the rip-off.
The snakes smell like trees now.

Thick as a plastic lie.
Within measurable-
the snakes smell like trees now-
of the next start-over.

Within measurable
distance of public health
Of the next start-over.
I itch so much less no.

Distance of public health
From the tax-gun barrel:
I itch so much less no.
Save me from parasites,

From the tax-gun barrel,
o belovèd won't you
save me from parasites,
you loving parasite.

O belovèd, won't you
soak up my sleep and wear,
You loving parasite,
at false market value?

Soak up my sleep and wear;
fall out in my sanctum.
At false market value,
will you rid me of you?

Fallout in my sanctum,
suddenly the rush hour.
Will you rid me of you?
No time to save groceries;

suddenly the rush hour.
No time for plastic bags,
no time to save groceries,
no time left to shower.

No time for plastic bags
to save my daily wear.
No time left to shower
when turned out of my bed.

Do save my daily wear,
to soak up your concern.
When turned out of my bed,
reeking obedience.

Do soak up your concern
with the means of my life.
Reeking obedience,
sleep and wear your concern.

2010 Bruce V. Bracken

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tofu

Constellations

We were dancing hot and strobe-dyed,
dressed in dying stars, gone nova
to plastic beats. We killed the floor.
We were the brightest before dawn,

then we faded in the dawn sky.

Dressed in dying stars, gone nova,
Our hearts were naked and shining.
We were the brightest before dawn
exposed us in a matte finish,

as we faded in the dawn sky.

Our hearts were naked and shining
as we mourned the death of the night.
Exposed, us, in a matte finish,
we kissed our painted faces clean,

then we faded in the dawn sky.

As we mourned the death of the night,
we burned our paled constellations.
We kissed our painted faces clean,
sex and thanksgiving to the moon,

as it faded in the dawn sky.

Bruce V. Bracken

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tofu

New poem

Cedar Oil (Sleep and Wear)

They sprayed again this week
to kill the parasites.
It's a cedar oil cloud,
a two-hour settle -down,

to kill the parasites.
Are we exorcised yet?
A two-hour settle-down.
Let's obey the rip-off.

Are we exorcised yet?
Thick as a plastic lie.
Let's obey the rip-off.
The snakes smell like trees now.

Thick as a plastic lie.
Within measurable-
the snakes smell like trees now-
of the next start-over.

Within measurable
distance of public health
Of the next start-over.
I itch so much less no.

Distance of public health
From the tax-gun barrel:
I itch so much less no.
Save me from parasites,

From the tax-gun barrel,
o belovèd won't you
save me from parasites,
you loving parasite.

O belovèd, won't you
soak up my sleep and wear,
You loving parasite,
at false market value?

Soak up my sleep and wear;
fall out in my sanctum.
At false market value,
will you rid me of you?

Fallout in my sanctum,
suddenly the rush hour.
Will you rid me of you?
No time to save groceries;

suddenly the rush hour.
No time for plastic bags,
no time to save groceries,
no time left to shower.

No time for plastic bags
to save my daily wear.
No time left to shower
when turned out of my bed.

Do save my daily wear,
to soak up your concern.
When turned out of my bed,
reeking obedience.

Do soak up your concern
with the means of my life.
Reeking obedience,
sleep and wear your concern.

Bruce V. Bracken

Posted via LiveJournal.app.