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Where I've Been
(a soar account)
I.
dirt roads,
dusty gravels & mud pies
she remembers childhood
and playing house games
and show-n-tell and speech
classes; yawnings wide open
in church pews not unlike the
imminently ashamed (though nay)
sundayschool wafers
which are essential-
ly prayers in acquiescent remission,
remission devoured
(and raped)
unknown jesus in upper-rooms
like shadows, lingeringly unseen (haughty)
redemption never a bygone thrashing
as the kiddies are awed, awaiting
“praise the lawd”, oreos
and red juice; punch, ginger-
ale like sustenance
quenching the crème-de-la-crème
like dunce-capped heads
sniffing cocaine and poppers, Dali paintings
in the corner of telling untellable stories
in the time of rhythm-woe who’s
on the pallet of supplication; the brush
strokes seem to hear
truths. pity & shame the placated void,
a pungent flatulence
groping, grasping, clinging, marble-hanging,
looking, looking
for unseen moments; anything
on the rock of solidarity (solid innocence,
stolid genius taken advantage of) carved raw
like michelangelo sculptures
with dingdongs knocked off,
private penises covered condomesque
alabastered clear & svelte
in its motive, motifs opaque not unlike
clovers of foreplayed fourspot leaf:
who’d dare cover david
in his nakedness, his sheer placidity,
his omnipotence…? who but
apparently someone giving more than a god-
damn.
raw is he (taken, made to bow poised)
marbled in disguise as decent.
deceit i tell you. what sensible repose
does rome have to perpetuate
fallacies behind pristine walls
(like submissive choirboys)
cross thyself
out!
i'd rather a clean shower rain innocence
(no inferior notions) like childhood
before the tunnel of damnation.
II.
shower naïveté:
joy a cleansing, a mildew
washed into sewers
of black smoke, glory
drowned in a misty glaze of
red carpet mystery;
a wrathful tear falls,
sorrow diminished facade
like tobacco ripped from earth.
miss you not collector
of despondent souls; check's cashed
like a soar account.
Copyright © 2005 Jacquii Cooke |
