An Angus steer
swung its head around the corner
of the door into the bedroom.
It stared at me, black glass eyes
catching spots of tiny white from the window.

I got out of bed and patted it, it
seemed so calm, smooth hide rippling
under my hand.

I could have slaughtered it and eaten like a king
for months but
when it turned and went out into the yard
through a door I’d obviously
forgotten to lock last night, I followed as far as the porch

and from there
watched it join its herdmates grazing
on the meager back lawn.

I’m no cowboy, I decided then and there,
I’ve got no reason to try and control
such a thing as a herd of cattle that know enough
to visit me when I am at my least warlike.

If I had woken up at some point and realized
that a piece of a dream was presenting itself to me, its neck
and veins exposed, I do not know what might have been:

I might have lived longer and fatter on the leavings,
the marbled flesh, the creamy waxen lines in the red muscle;

but I would never have seen where this came from:
the lawn I had neglected allowing sustenance for mouths
I couldn’t understand except as fodder.

The cattle moved off down the driveway into the street, and all I could do
was wave my hat at them. Git along, I said,
git along, it’s all misfortune here,
and none of your own. Go find another lawn to graze.
I’ll keep the door open for you.

it’s been like rooming
with a centipede.

hearing all those shoes drop.
wondering how many are left to go.

stepping out of bed
in bare feet.

measuring the odds
of feeling the whisper of thin legs

crossing in waves
over my charged skin.

I do not think I’ll be taking Ambien again…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Waking up talking —

EVERYTHING IS DISAPPEARING

re-
call

the morning glories
climbing the chain-link fence
and one tendril scaling the face
of the arborvitae in the neighbor’s yard

the monster heat of the bonfire
on Fourth of July
in the sandpit

what it was like to breathe and taste
before cigarettes

the leftover vinyl of artie shaw
discovered in best friend’s barn
scratched to fusstone but still
revelatory

orchards in abandoned farms
gone back to poplar and scrub ferns
timid among the rotten fruit

lying awake at night
with nothing but dark and not
caring that there was no sound

EVERYTHING IS DISAPPEARING —

names and dimlit backyards
names on shallowcarved school desks
names and names and blame and fervent
hope of notice and friendship

stumbling fingers on the first joint
rolled with single wide papers
praying it wouldn’t fall apart before
the watchful gods of freakdom

re-
call

birds and cars and barking sandstone
far from famous bands gone to accountancy and parenthood
slinky patch jeans and embroidered Big Daddy Roth army coats

the first switchblade
hash pipe
condom stolen from the drawer before
the first
kiss

recall hopeful waking up talking
blue in the face from Fresca and vodka

re-
call
sweating in the middle of a broke-ass broken sleep

waking up tonight talking VERY LOUD
EVERYTHING IS DISAPPEARING
everything inside is solving itself for zero
cutting larger and deeper holes in this being
with its comfortable shoes and sensible coat
with skin and graying hair gone to pot
battling hydra refusing suddenly to grow back

everything
yes
everything

— T Brown, 5/23/07

After the Syracuse reading, Jane and crew run a workshop. We were unable to attend (got home at 4AM) but I did take on the challenge…

Challenge: First word of first line “Glass”
Last word of poem “Marshmallow”

Syracuse to Worcester, May 21-22, 2006

1.
Glass Head Tony one hour from Syracuse — half-full, half-empty? I lean forward and back and the contents
slop all over the car. Damn near empty now, and four hours to go.

2.
Sunspots or the mountains keep breaking the satellite’s warm hold on the radio, so I’ve got fragments of Satriani and Shankar all over the car now, sloshing on the floor boards. What will happen when I draw it all back up tomorrow in full daylight?

3.
“You stoned, son?” “Nah, officer-sister, I’m just wet with a road buzz and I’m two miles from home with a car full of sleep and unloved music. Cut me a break, let me get there, and I promise I’ll never drive happy again.”

4.
The sides of the dry glass on my head reflects the best thing ever I could see now as it starts to dawn outside — the pillow, that welcome marshmallow.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~