numinousmagazine

Jude Dillon

In Issue 5 on January 10, 2011 at 12:23 pm

I keep showing up for myself

A scrape of mayonnaise on the lettuce of love
Slips out with the zipper stuck
A skid mark into accidental love
Looks for another face to read.

I close in on open fields
Where the aspen come to understand
A kiss of how close I was
Straight up with soda and a broken sky.

Love is a whiff –a clip of news-mind
The tainted cheese –the sour lip held back
The long climb up to your basement thoughts
In a bare humming room
I’m still not enough for me.

I am not what you become
A diamond welded on a wish
A flower in a rich man’s garden
A swallow of light slips into a corner
Water crowds alcohol in a glass
Describes a non-existent you.

The lack of evidence we have together
The thin man slips into a devilled egg sandwich
You chase the real to put in a book
You read out loud to quieten the room
I’m sick of sending for you in my sleep.

I keep showing up for myself
My elsewhere in a glass.

Fingers lock as if you care
Until my mouth is full of questions
My bones give me soft cushions of smoke
Rare touch –frightens like a whip.

You really can butter up a pause
The smudge your face becomes
The room that lights us up
The putty of my consciousness.

I come in close to hear you smile
As rivers tug me underneath
Landscape jams with metal edge
Happy in my descent
The same old squish and groan.

The jackets of the bees begin to hum
I slip light into a wallet of sky
You grow dark with forgetting
Mascara smears the skin
New paint on rotten wood.

You map the suddenness of me
Alive in a new skin
Your blade slips into words.

Whiskey puts on weight
And shifts against me
A kiss one takes and gives away
Drifts down around my glass.

Hell is other people’s poems
A smile tightens to a curse
Altar wise and candle wish
Spoiling all the fun.

Life is early yet
Green as summer likes to brag
You leave us without the charm to bring me back
The earth beneath spits and fumes
The sudden bursting fuse of love.

I hear screaming in your whisper
The way you stand. how close. enough –for now.
You tend to bruise up close
Flame undoes the wax.

I slip into cracks of your argument
A moment passes on the left
I operate in silence, no matter what I say
Your bones squeeze into intricate curves
The dog who won’t be chained.

I light up a smile for your cigarette
A friendly bar as empty as the reasons.

As I pencil in your love

If you’re nervous –perhaps we’ll be fine
You hold onto every piece of gloom
Crisp as unforgotten love.

I’m use to the failure of rhythm
Tired in a fucked-up sort of way
I close the book and open you again
I see the weather in you
The lilacs are dying
Summer sends a shiver.

I stumble into your laughter
As I pencil in your love
Windows gape at unforgiving views
A dump truck shakes a load loose
You listen to the lawnmower
With fierce detachment
The butter knife dulls with fatty looks.

Your kiss meets who you want me to
I turn your portrait against the wall
You become a city I never leave
A slim retreat into the thick of you
A ripple from a puddle in the mirror.

I’m not funny enough to be tragic
I arrive already drunk on boredom
You weigh down my buoyancy
I brush by gauging love.

I open with your closing remarks
The electricity comes on
And we’re reconnected
Semen flows slowly down your thigh
The grip of the earth grows tighter
The ocean spills over the hills
The air is fresh with stale ideas
The walls hung with frowns.

A woman with an ear for good-looking language
A morning full of comfortable voices
The tattoo you’re working into a poem.

The short cuts of love are too quick for romance
Cruising through red lights
With the dazzle of your looks
I hope the character assassination goes smoothly
With the taste of the sea on your eyelash.

The dark lingers longer than a glass or two
I’m looking for fun –not a goddess
Your figure steadies me in an uncertain way
The embrace I never make
Because I might never let you go.

 

i was forged in the loss of one who lost her feeling, lost her ground and i filled in around a look and a look away. i sought the company of trees and leaves that flickered eyelash light and spoke without moving fastened to a river underground that never sees the smoke of the raking leaves; autumn is a reach into the pockets of summer for someone warm. i travelled with her in mind and not the woman with me….that i drank to keep the distance shiny and firm and dollar bright with shimmering ripple from the adventure with the glass. She fastened around the neck the loops of time the earth settled for us and we settled for moments glimpsed across backyards, streets crammed with wheels that whistled unlike swallows and steel. i drifted through afternoons with my muse and a memory and hoped to revive and bring her close but she had life to bring into light and noise and the dream never fully woke. i came out of this collection crammed with a suitcase of bottles, a stack of revisions, anxious/reorganizing/fitting in with her but knew only listening, jabbing telephone to my ear, watching cold rain proceeding, silent were the best words she spoke and as i said, i filled in around her, then brought her out in the shadows where the light blinks partial afternoons of grey pungent light, loaded up with rain and the place that is a city. i found her a quietude to brood, flooding pools behind my eyes. The stillness of the park and a river played and sat and wrote. And happy as an artist is he who writes out the wonder in the fear that masters no love at all, eventually, as the muse withdraws.

 

 

 

****

Jude Dillon: I like to read every month at a poetry event sponsored by Selina Clary in Calgary Alberta. I am a Contributing Editor (of poems and photographs) at Gloom Cupboard, an e-zine/print based in England and seen on Facebook as Visit Gloom Cupboard.

I search for talent locally and globally. I’ve been at it for three months and have featured three poets. One of whom Leslie McGrath who’s book Opulent Hunger Opulent Rage is coming out this week.


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