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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 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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