Free verse № 139468
Nude Falling Down Staircase
(How we do art â)
Coming from sex or going to fetch pie
from the plate on the table for someone
whoâs already asleep, having forgotten
asking for pie, you trip over the dog,
and you, the dog and you, go tumbling down,
thinking â the human you now â so now Iâm
a motion-study, futurism for dummies,
cue laugh-track: zhe outraygeous waiter tips
the desert-cart, cannolis, crème-puffs spilling.
So youâre breaking up, having gone downstairs
to get desert, mister or missus head
knee elbow nipple balls sex made all-one,
now grunting spiraling air-thrusting thinking
if I had wings Iâd touch feather-light down
on the landing, Iâd bring this on a plate
for you to smile at, rubbing the sheet between
your legs. But what of that? Then thereâs no man
or girl waiting above, there are no sheets
to rub, no love-smell, thereâs no landing, either,
and only the waked dog eating your pie.
14 comments
The final lines threw me off though, they don't seem to go with the scattered multi angle picture you've created.
Only as far as cubist/futurist/whatever capturing every movement or moment in an event, freeze-frame style. Which I think applies to writing as much as to any other art.
"It seems your trying to demystify art."
I'd like to mystify the mundane. Seriously. For me at least, that's a side effect of atheism. Part of that I think is the event or poem being free from context, which I what I was trying to say in the end. For me it's metaphor for writing a poem, maybe a poem for a woman. You break your neck and only the dog/reader gets the prize. If that's not clear, though, it's my bad.
Yet I still think there is a mystic quality to art that can't be defined except maybe through art.
Dessert, not desert.
re "dessert": yes. That's unconscionable. Maybe I should get away from the computer for a bit. It seems to be eating brain cells.
personable - a tad more broad - you're too selfish.
Pie!
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