If I had a youth
where the waters lap
at lightning
and the fold of wicked weird
thumbnails
fall
into the sit
of every ignorant Crassus
of this time
this time
we be
crowded into an "are"
there will be
no mistake this time
crass, though we are
sorry
we may be
maybe
the dusk stained mineral
around her naked neck
suspended in sweet little crevice
fugue of her skin
is only in the "are"
and the much greater weight
accosts the mouth
of waters
Author notes
This is one part of three in what I'm conveniently calling "the napkin poems."
I came home to Cincinnati from Chicago a few weeks ago and the bus was almost an hour early-- an hour before my brother and ride home got out of school. So I milled about the nearby Tower Place Mall and eventually found my way to Netherland Plaza, a four or five star hotel. I wound my way up the ornate staircases past grand ballrooms, opulent restaurants and a convention hall until I reached my destination on the second floor, the toilet. I noticed upon leaving the restroom that the paper towels provided were quite nice. They were inscribed with the logo "NP" at the head and the address on the bottom. So I grabbed a stack and now back in Chicago have taken to inscribing poetry on them.
Comments
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last stanza is dreadfully beautiful.
i'm not sure i understand everything you said but i still love to read your words.
-cassidy
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