Alexander Chisum
i light my cigarettes on poppies in
the arboretum. kids tick a storm’s quick-
ness in mississippis. any flicked bic’s
butane flower fidgets, asks for aspirin.
the fire teases me in badder latin :
w one or two candelas, let’s lipstick
this gobbledygook. i wince, dyspeptic.
that roachish libido, adrenaline
hooch : i sip it, saber-toothéd, smooch it,
heart ballooning, gaskets gagging, toonish-
ly bologna. brother, it’s too boring
quitting smoking for my one & only
lung left. a mosquito bucks me, zooms, meth-
headed, west. may he be ever lonely.
on cutlery reflecting a candleflame
flowing west, & maybe ever lonely,
the lava sonnets in molten voltas.
charcoal’s organs radiate, molting
moths & goldfish, those watery yogis.
if a broken lantern hopes, then show me.
blow me, o addled candle, o oboist
in earrings of glassiest igneous,
volcano erupting in marrowy
blurts. serrated, all gussied up in black
forest cake, we knives blaze in ovation,
our chairs overturning cholesterol
quick. our fire need exits, more alcohol,
more airflow. the lava, tho, is patient,
& patience opens windows in us all.
emergency
if patience opens windows in a wall,
then wait. wait immediately, alex.
a pill detangles in stomach acid,
your fist relaxes. tender chemicals
make gentler animals, coladas moll-
ify the workaholic. an addict
calls it the colic : the tick-tock, tsk-tsk
insistence of the twenty-seven doll-
ars in your pocket. all-american,
what fuels the dust is dust’s own industri-
ousness. why count, alex, your calories?
a prayer’s not a ladder, it’s vice
versa. he is, he says, a person. he
dreams it. now look, he’s opening his eyes.
what fumes & bones
is this what now means? just open my eyes?
brother, your pupils are keyholes. lightning’s
the key. & my brain? it’s the battery—
rev yer engine, gent. a bon mot’s a sly
fuse of amusement. you electrified?
not yet. sun banged its cymbals, & every
champagne sprang : cats to dressers, miserly
irises (three), graffiti inklings (mine,
daily). a voltage of bluebirds uncorks
a blueberry bush, & the cockleburs
are? effervescence. what fumes & bones we
are & ride—to work, to buy groceries,
to buy the gas that gets us home from work—
always someplace, never wholly wholly.
