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The Libertine’s Punishment

I was grabbed by the arm near the stairwell
Then grabbed by the arm near the door
Next grabbed by the arm near the forest
Until grabbed by the arm near a dark
embankment of ferns—
they are drenched and they are on fire
they are only orange lights in the steam
motioning down to the sea
Something is moving beside me
Nothing’s supposed to be there
Either I have a heart of stone
or I haven’t got a heart
Perhaps I only have a stone
and that stone is not my heart
and that stone is neither like my heart
for I have no heart, I only have a stone
following down to the sea

                                                       Things as they are
vanish not to ask questions
in the interval some friend departs
another red photographed birthday
lost at low lighting
                                          an oral exam for the genius
who builds the first fog machine
not also having a horn machine
                                                                  incredible, yet
the true cloud’s anvil
seats just the one songbird doing its taxes
nothing personal
                                                 things vanish not as they are
but as they were to be remembered

hard to bathe them in the cold
low lighting on their crumpled doors of oak
young legs in a restrained
starburst pattern do appear
and do not light the way
they are drenched
and they are on fire
they are only orange lights in the steam
motioning down to the sea
Something is moving beside me
Nothing’s supposed to be there

I was grabbed by the arm near the highway
Then grabbed by the arm near the shore
Until grabbed by the leg near the stone
at the ocean’s floor

Posted 09/15/09
Comments (3)
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That's just a rad poem. That's a nut in the cyclone of passion.
08/22/11 9:30pm
I love this, allusions and all.
09/15/09 10:44pm
Mac, this is great! Give it to him, he deserves it!
09/15/09 3:34pm