Friday, January 27, 2006
No Such Poem for John Coletti
John, hug "like a quilt truck."
On the roof "Cooing a page
in the twilight."
You send me to Joe Ceravolo,
John Godfrey, Clark Coolidge, Jack Collom:
Middle weights of old--heavies all.
Names, names, names. How can I
describe their one-syllable dash.
A long history of no apology
and no story.
I know if you knew, you'd take us--
I know that. As you do, and do.
You don't say, "You don't say."
Nor I don't want to live like a story.
A translucent brown floor-dust
is there for you to see, sweep,
blow away, note by slow dusty note.
No shit, yes; "someone stole."
JC enters the ring: it's war, it's peace--
Leo T. to a T.
Ted and Ted G. are in the corner,
your cut men.
Curly hair Coletti, measured eyes, measured
lips--and the measure of a moan.
All the silent bruises I have ever loved,
the "emotional surface" scratched and gone too.
No one asking if it's a flood.