Writing and art by Christopher Luna. Poetry events in Vancouver, WA, Portland, OR, and beyond.
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
DOTS, a new poem by Neeli Cherkovski
Thanks to Neeli Cherkovski for emailing his latest, posted below with his permission:
DOTS
1
leaves on the upper branches trope
backwards, and trip the afternoon into
a tremor, tremendous waves weave
through us, we yearn for
a frenzied silence, the neighborhood
hummingbirds will arrive anytime now,
it began in a dot, you know? the dog is
neither gold or a diamond, it is something
you cannot conceive of, it is just a dot, not
a dot in time, it doesn’t come at the end
of a document, it is your smart and your
stupid, and not even that, it is not cold or
hot, not right or wrong, it is waiting for us
at the end, meanwhile
dinner is ready, the car is parked and
the bees are in paradise, all is
working as it should be, except, of
course, for the sucking motion of
a black hole and the ever-collapsing
universe, it is, to say
the least, a bewildering montage
the fact is that journalism is dead,
poetry is an academic game, love
is a contract, war is a necessity
the leaves rustle, the leaves roar,
shadows of the high branch snag
a magnificent plumed bird, no
one takes notice, I am left
to witness the scene
2
sweet panther, you unbuckled
your belt and slid out of your
Levies, you tasted the golden dot
I offered, it melted on your
tongue, you were sleek and handsome
until one day I found you in a local
coffee house with a vacancy in your eyes
you know me, and you had been so
hopeful, you were trying to give up
hustling on the streets, I used to
suck your fingers and caress your
thighs and make you moan, you
said man you know you know
but what was it?
3
a dot
or a smudge, a pit or a deep
place
that takes all matter
in hand
and flushes it
a black hole
is a toilet
and we are
vain beyond belief
we are vain
and we
are animals
4
up on Cold Mountain they compose
with a rhythmic wisdom that widens
our grief, the snow is deep and
we travel within, the snow is deeper
within, it is colder than
on Cold Mountain, it gets so that we
find it difficult to move, and then
we burn like a fragile twig
in a roaring fire
NC
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