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GEORGE WALLACE |
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NIGHT
night he drank from a
new tincup MY FIXED IDEA OF YOU you were the knife i lost the jungle path deep green red as a blade spilled on the highway which slices through a south american canvas your bed when i shut my eyes i see you lying there naked like the morning the sun walked in and you and i were still making love is it so wrong to confess that? flower of the agave milk pulp sapping out my wound my painted love you were the tattoo which grows like scar tissue over dawn's eyes you were pierced flesh you were the carpenter's nail you were the hound's tooth which has worked its way into the blind heart of the world
SUPPOSE suppose the book of the world is raw gold in the mind of an elephant in a cage in a zoo in europe or north america or an african king who wanders the banks of the nile is the memory of a jungle cat with reflective eyes green as the sun on cumbrian hills it is reasonable to suppose that crocodiles eat bony fish in a puddle in new york city that all along the modern boulevard hartebeest wade that the sandcliffs of northport are roseate it is reasonable to suppose in the foothills of kilamanjaro eternity is a lake of understanding filling up with water from white cascades of tien shan mountains suppose that fact is fancy that mudhuts are schoolrooms that a rwenzori rainforest is a handful of diamonds pecked at by pigeons suppose that boys in schoolyards catch moths like bats that girls in perfectly engineered mirrors bathe by the waters of kerala in moonlight sometimes this world is the red unborn skin of a star! sometimes knowledge is an impenetrable jungle sometimes the wealth of nations is concealed in glass jars sometimes ambition is a barrier sometimes a word is the last poem in the blood of a people sometimes revelation is the textbook of leopards sometimes a dream can save the world from the acts of men suppose a lake is a desert fed by snow capped waters suppose a winter cloud gathering over the eastern parkway is a suit of gray pavement suppose innumerable pink flamingo suppose buddhas in bamiyan suppose clownfish feeding on a coral reef suppose the shadow of a shoe-bill stork is an african falcon (once i read about a falcon it drifted noiselessly over the steppes beyond karuma) suppose rain falling in seattle turned into sunshine suppose sunshine was shade suppose shade was a calm wind which raced under the wing of an african falcon suppose an african falcon turned and turned in the sky inside your skull suppose blue sky was taino heaven it is reasonable to suppose it is reasonable to suppose -- it is reasonable to suppose anything! supposing twilight on the savanna was a magician's story? supposing the hearts of astronauts fed on majesty? suppose an undiscovered green valley where the first woman in the world lives suppose she is singing a lullaby she learned from one of earth's lost satellites it is reasonable to suppose a lullaby it is reasonable to suppose the rolling serengeti it is reasonable to suppose the warm originating sun it is reasonable to suppose the birth of the first perfect library in the heart of the world it is reasonable to suppose that as you read these words, earth's original voice is singing to you
George Wallace is author of eight chapbooks of poetry, with forthcoming books planned in the US, UK and Italy. He is editor of Poetrybay, an electronic literary publication archived and distributed by Stanford U through the worldwide LOCKSS program. A regular reader in the New York metropolitan area, he has appeared on stage with David Amram, Paul Winston, Leonard Lehrman, Levon Helm, John Sinclair and Thurston Moore in performance of his work, and has toured his work internationally on several occasions. In 2003 George Wallace was named the first Poet Laureate for Suffolk County, New York. |
Copyright © 2004 by George Wallace.
Material may not be reprinted without prior written permission.