|Jacket 37 — Early 2009||Jacket 37 Contents page||Jacket Homepage||Search Jacket|
This piece is about 2 printed pages long.
It is copyright © Les Wicks and Jacket magazine 2009. See our [»»] Copyright notice.
The Internet address of this page is http://jacketmagazine.com/37/wicks-les-poem.shtml
I blame you & the island. There’s an electronica,
that I wear like a lei. Feint complaint
from our hearts, all the uniforms are bleached.
We joke about hooking up a drip, setting oxygen tanks beside
your breathless bed. King parrots attend to the breeze
while afternoon storms then moonblaze
orbit that smile that we can make, that has never been photographed, you
sometimes so serious doctor
who can both navigate the veins & be pulse.
Knave of the candle stick, have I ever been here before?
Yes, the familiars
plus our human excitability that builds & burns temples.
Forget about gods or love,
the scratch in the joints.
Who would have known
it was still there?
We forget the crazy precision
of gasped words, yes
our tongues are dancing they wear laughs, forgotten eloquence…
are we deduded, maybe langing in languor between kisses.
Will we eat, remember sleep? Mother, smother or slather me we experiment
& sweetly dement. This is it, this day at least…
the fires of your intelligence
when I am being stupid.
Wounds are sealed with diligent empathy. I am humbled
beneath your poems & palms.
Slipshod eucalypts clothe sky,
I bestride the obvious, the loveliness.
Shy beside lemons & fingerlimes
Les Wicks has toured widely and seen publication across 11 countries in 7 languages. His 8th book of poetry is The Ambrosiacs (Island, 2009).