Alex Lemon
OBLATION
and I bellow out and the whole bed it shakes
and you smile at my laugh as it rocks you awake
—Bonnie “Prince” Billy
Hush—I am coming to you for the body,
the miracle of graceless breathing.
Will you moan me the blues of black eyes,
a rusty washboard roaching away the day?
Please, I’ve put a bandana over my frog-
hearted dog’s eyes. Take a picture,
it’ll be priceless. Today, the sun will sniff
our crotches until dusk, but I can’t wait
on my rock at the river’s edge forever.
I have to pretend the water is feverish
or nail-hard candy. I sing half-breasted
hymns for insomnia & strum my air banjo
trying to remember a Robert Frost poem
about a boy who lops off his hand while dreaming
of corn dogs. Or maybe I’m thinking of the care-
package I sent you. A famous donkey rider once said
everything is about losing—or a confusion of milk
if you know the secret handshake. The small bibles
on my rock turn out to be worms or milfoil or maybe not.
The ants are lazy & manic, flowing in & out & over.
They dance their winking eyes, butt one another
before lifting & teetering, toppling into the smooth-
skinned water. It is not as the wind predicted.
This is not a ha ha beard, not my boondoggle lips.
Hurry. I swear it’ll be priceless. I have pockets
Spilling with nameless things, & my patent
on whistling doesn’t expire ‘til noon.
FROM HALLELUJAH BLACKOUT
Unconscious is a deafening chug of daylight
Enlightenment shoos away the asking
Your dreams are skin-sore and useless
A dead dog plays dead, practices its forever
The steelworker waves the white flag
Morning wakes without independence
Therefore, the thing, and the thing
With an independence, also fills with the pain of asking
Bring in the sock-headed dolls, the other words
Who knows the material existence
Again—the blind man dyes his hair
While the blue bird dies alone
Thank you for asking
The object, the thing, the something
Sense and certainty sit singing the step-son’s lament
Yes to the hands of truth; but this is straight-line light
By itself, it is a storm of asking
We want to figure out the vanishing point
Sip and sip and pass to our opposite-self
From a being of mercy, birds flew into my head
And again, into another being of asking
The island of sugar sinks in an accident of leaves
In the trees, there is an accident of music
Dancing becomes the one more time
A must-known-self enters exposing, not asking
The effect is immediate and vast
Bones of brush stroke, blur of a bee
Determined are the power lines
Down in the morning, they failed without asking