J O S E P H D O N A H U E
________________________________TWO POEMS
Lulu Makes a Movie
Must be a docudrama, where
Love or Lulu or Lou Andreas Salome
films the chastening of her sex life:
It will be for the camera this time,
so it will have to be real sloppy,
and rougher than before . . .
Clearly, time is about to fold
in half, or turn inside out.
Must be Rosh Hashanah --
Adonai, remake the world.
The shofar's reverb finds Isaac
on the mountain: What is that?
A sad ram with a shattered hoof?
Aleph, Bet, Vet, Gimmel, Daled, Hey . . .
Must be images of the future flare
as the fountain water touches
the mirror. Roil and gleam, purity
upon purity, glaze of liquid on
the glass in the glitter by the
supermarket boasting a new
aisle: Nazi cookware. Awed by
such elegance, who would not pay
whatever for a "putch pot.” Your wife:
Honey, we already have a putch pot.
It seems the masseuse must
press the hot oil deeper under
the edge of your skull, whispering
Let the video helmet tweak your
fear cues. You're a hit man
in a lost Scorsese reel. Lit pool.
Wild party on the patio of a huge
house on a cliff over the moody
Pacific. Inside, Tony pinches a fat,
terrified face, says as you enter:
Hey, Uncle Zabby, this guy came
to blow out your brains, make
nice red art all over these nice
white walls. But it turns out
today is Ma's birthday, you
lucky sack of shit, so he'll be
getting in touch with you later.
Aleph, Bet, Vet, Gimmel, Daled, Hey . . .
The new antidepressants are
intentionally erratic. They give
back slivers of original zest.
Once again, living alone, you
can be terrified by squirrels on
the roof -- o god, the house is on fire . . .
Woven firmly by the angel of
birth, the basket of consciousness
gathers what our offering will be.
As every child knows: When
I'm old and dead that cartoon
won't scare me anymore,
the one about the dog
abandoned in the Arctic
who lives on a chunk of ice
drifting over the drowned world . . .
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