Demons stroke my face
There, there now – that’s not so bad
As I lay here, shaking
Pushing all the stuffed animals
Onto the bed, in a pile
To somehow try to compensate
For the lack of you on the futon,
Because you’re not here
You could be anywhere
But the demons are,
Those old familiar fears
That you always smell first.
Posts Tagged ‘Animal’
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Forgive Yourself for Evolving
Posted: March 16, 1995 in PoetryTags: Adam, Animal, Belief, Dream, Dwarf, Elf, Eve, Faerie, Fruit, God, Home, Imagination, Life, Love, Magic, Man, Power, Satan, Story
Perhaps my only true loves
Are those that are inanimate,
Or are animated soley by my
Magical imagination.
They love me like a god –
I give them life, they give me
Love without strings attached.
They could attach their strings
If they ate from that forbidden fruit
That Adam and Eve partook of.
But that is the difference
Between mankind and animals,
Plants, minerals, Elves, Dwarves, and Faeries.
We know we do wrong – we still do it.
Some barrier was broken and we keep on breaking,
We made god to subtly blame for our position.
(We call him Satan)
We told him to forgive us because
It wasn’t in our own power
To forgive ourselves for evolving.
We are now the chosen species of the planet
And, collectively, we all want to go home.
So these inanimate things I animate,
Infusing them with imagination and belief.
I can believe in them because it was I
Who made them real in the first place.
God didn’t make me; I made him
Just like I make a dream a reality,
A story my existence, and item alive
And bounding to and fro with innocent excitement.
I miss you snuggling up to my back,
both arms around me,
your breasts against me;
we share the initial chill of the sheets
by huddling together and
squirming frequently,
trying to get comfortable
in that perfect place,
but it is the friction of our bodies —
between us and the bed
— just being close
that makes us warm.
I’m going to sleep now,
wishing you were here.
This futon is vast and unfillable
without your volume.
Stuffed animals are strangely solemn
as opposed to their usual quiet merriment.
We all miss you Dawn.
you pet my head,
I’m glad I’m your dog
to your sightless hand;
I may be nothing more
than an animal whose fur
is a tactile playground.
Gut Feeling
Posted: July 13, 1993 in PoetryTags: Angel, Animal, Cigarette, Dream, Forest, Love, Sleep
Sometimes I can’t write poetry;
I know this so I don’t try.
so I’ll listen to you stomp around
and play your Steely Dan CD.
I’ll lay on my back, look at the ceiling,
and smoke my cigarette.
Then I’ll dream my best poems
and never write them down,
just wander through them
like a forest of different overstuffed chairs,
like a choir of angel’s hymns.
falling asleep with you mad at me
is something I’m getting used to.
I hear your stomach muttering in your sleep
and I’ll know you’re still wondering
how much I love you.
lighting another cigarette end to end,
I let you know I’m not asleep
if you’re listening.
that is if you’re listening,
behind your stuffed animals,
under the comforter.
a little girl lies in
her room at night
and she thinks of me.
who can it be?
I know who but
I’m not telling;
I have the secrets but
I’m not selling.
it is whispered into
animals ears – they hear
and clap their hands
because they understand.
arranging my stuffed animals neatly
seems to rest my mind,
giving it a stump to sit on.
curled up on my bed,
I wall myself in with
bodies stuffed with fluff,
still so little in a big body.
Yugguy
Posted: January 28, 1992 in PoetryTags: Animal, Blue, Eye, God, Light, Orange, Rabbit, Turtle, Yugguy
quality time with this animal:
Yugguy, rabbit and turtle combine,
transforming in the blink of an eye,
blowing bubbles through blue light bulbs
and the orange one in my reading light.
laughing quietly by myself
with all my animals.
god.
he blows the bubbles well.
padding softly
through starry halls
lined with glass trophy cases
searching for my rubber ball
bounced once too high;
searching many interesting places.
lots of animal heads
in the glass museum.
big teeth and manes.
you can see them, all dead,
but no rubber ball.
they give me the creeps
just the same.
I have so many toys
I don’t know what to do
with them all;
guns and men and jeeps
scattered around the floors
while I’m looking
for just one.
I have nothing to do so I do nothing.
I have nothing to say so I say nothing.
My day was cold and rosy like a wax museum.
Mistakes seem to multiply my shadow
Into monsters clutching broken shards of mirrors.
Weeds grow about the architecture of my projects.
I say nothing I do nothing I say or do…
The beatings are screaming dully now
Through the calluses thick and faraway;
Sounds I slowly turn my head past,
Rotating through the jelly halls
Of pedestalled imagination snowy with sleep.
Somewhere in my closet there is a chest
That I have lost and a little boy with no mouth
Is quietly picking up all the shiny pieces
That the shadows bring to him and putting them away.
Button-eyed animals have gathered
From smoky trash heaps to watch him
As they always have with their own bright faith,
Chrysalises for creatures clearer than I.
The alarm is reverberating somewhere, muffled
By the furs and pelts of sacrifices to unworthy idols.
Beautiful skins of fantastic creatures.
Tears fall from eyes which have not flinched for years;
Ever since I was a little boy with no mouth.
what shall I say to thee
infinite reaches of space,
unfolding as a game board of unlimited leaves
surveying the rules of elder gods
as drops fall silently strained through the fabric of my robes.
clear eyes can distill liquor from the pungent fern
as brave minstrels sing under reddening skies of smoke.
as beautiful as the apocalypse is,
foundations quake with a hummingbird’s nerves;
the hum of snapped electrical cables
the glazing of the glorious mirror-windows
wind rustles gently through
an anticipating forest
and the animals wish we leave now.
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