Jacket 34 — October 2007        link Jacket 34 Contents page        link Jacket Homepage

Jesse Glass: Two Poems

Two poems:

From Here
O Japanese Poh!etz


This piece is about 5 printed pages long.
It is copyright © Jesse Glass and Jacket magazine 2007.

From Here


Empire-scent
in matted rooms
who were these resilient Lords
who translated

chemical
energy
into linear motion?

“Our ( )thers beyond the grave”

we store their spasms
in freezers laid end to end
in drifts of smothered bees

then linger
to compare

apples to lug nuts

“states /of/
/of/ affairs”

singing sad
anthems

we domesticate fire
hone a ladder of blades
because of

__________________________________________________________________________

how did they know?

crawling ahead

dragging their calipers
(errant parentheses)

measuring, numbering

steel blades covertly
cutting cruel oracles “clap upon clap”

into wickiups
where they hunkered,
cursed mosquitoes, conversed

of stacked bricks,
ram-filled yards
fruited islands,

sang the sad
anthems

__________________________________________________________________________

seized power, rejected
first path,
second path for third. rimed blue vials

(salt Semen o’
fighting loins)

dome their rinds

momentum latent  
as the bells they lathed from
damaged air, hanging

bullet-dented, motionless.

carillons gripped
in ripped
sphincters

hoisted
(ahoy!)

signal
sad
anthems

__________________________________________________________________________

widows transfixed
by the jade
ripple of evening curtains

play Scriabin
on out of tune pianos

strong currents meeting,
blunted, inside them, wound-like openings
weep into tampons

cells self-stacking
rapacious voids
high-bridged noses, thin, seeking mouths

nibble at
membranes

names
notOURnames
names but not

they contemplate
lamplight
(guns & hatchets rust within their words)

crabs run sideways

“Beneath is Another”

so
go their sad
anthems



__________________________________________________________________________

O Japanese Poh!etz

O Japanese Poh!etz,  much more cognizant of uniqueness than I shall ever be
            wiser & more with it, ear pressed
                        to the tiny intestinal rumblings of seasonal haiku
             laughing & crying, long sexy hair & crew cuts, naked, holding daggers & zen swords
gorgeous  in snow & rain, but ready to cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut

cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut
            cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut
                        cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut
                                    cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut cut
                                                cut cut cut cut cut cut cut
                                                            cut cut cut cut
                                                                    cut cut

the wind-blown washi waka before it even hits the ground
in a show of skill
that does not require my applause

yet here it is


O Japanese Poh!etz, writing involves such cursing, multiple kicks to the groin, saluting
           hidden authorities, stabbing at one’s limbs until the innocence goes away,
                        then reconstructing innocence with a surgeon’s grace.
                                   You bring your grim mouths & fevered tongues near & lick
                                               the raw words from forehead, throat, breasts, loins, you

lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick
            lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick
                        lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick
                                    lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick lick
                                                lick lick lick lick lick lick lick
                                                            lick lick lick lick
                                                                        lick lick

the tattooed flesh before it ever finds its hell
& breathe each lost name
in a show of skill
that does not require my applause

(as you applaud each other)

yet here it is.


Jesse Glass and friends. Photo by Ji Chi Kai CoHo

Jesse Glass and friends. Photo by Ji Chi Kai CoHo




Jesse Glass lives with his family in Shin-Urayasu, Japan. Whenever he can, he climbs a mountain to the ruins of Chijiwa castle, Nagasaki prefecture, and watches the clouds slowly pass over the mountain tops and out over Chijiwa bay.

 
 
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