Sasha Rudensky, Celebration 2011
I put those things there.—See them burn.
The emerald the azure and the gold
Hiss and crack, the blues & greens of the world
As if I were tired. Someone interferes
Everywhere with me. The clouds, the clouds are torn
In ways I do not understand or love.
Licking my long lips, I looked upon God
And he flamed and he was friendlier
Than you were, and he was small. Showing me
Serpents and thin flowers; these were cold.
Dominion waved & glittered like the flare
From ice under a small sun. I wonder.
Afterward the violent and formal dancers
Came out, shaking their pithless heads.
I would instruct them but I cannot now,—
Because of the elements. They rise and move,
I nod a dance and they dance in the rain
In my red coat. I am the king of the dead.
by John Berryman
He put salt water in. He put the
smallest sound inside my stomach in.
He put the mosquito netting in.
He smeared attar on
my neck. He put dalmatian
chrysanthemums in. He put
conversation with a widow in
the hour without stopping.
He put a hollowed out tree trunk
in the bookshelf in
the middle of the night.
He put the unintelligible drag
in a fistful of grass in
the purple river light in
the expat coffee shop.
The building we broke
into was in. He put the muddy handful
of pearls in the promise
of a house. He put a mulberry
in, a tiny worm. He put
the wall in the rain
walking home. He
did not put bedsheets in. He
never put the bottle in. He
did not, would not come to the house.
He did not mar me with rain.
lee materazzi, Knick Knack Wall, 2014