i gave my brother’s wife an orange
and bound our souls,
hers and mine.
not a whole orange,
less than half –
all she could bear.
summoned there,
throttled,
loving her so long,
i stood dumb, mute
at her whispered,
“i love you.”
i gave her an orange,
she slept, and
my heart broke.
i gave my
brother’s wife
an orange.
constant sin
cauterizes nerves
essential for
rousing God:
your swaying,
unsanctified, blemished,
unwise, unesteemed,
clinkered dream
can metamorphosize
into morning
golden Paradise.
ask that you dream.
Up! Get up, young man, there’s nothing wrong with you
That I can tell. You’ve no call laying sunken still
Three days dead in the evening heat and morning dew,
The jungle creeping in on you to work it’s green-eyed will.
Him I understand, laying slack against the wall,
No head, no legs, no arms, a bloodless shredded sack.
He grappled with a satchel charge, left nothing else at all.
A tattered scrim of dusky skin informs me he is black.
God’s gift of
bilateral symmetry:
we may, if we dare,
sample the adhering ether
outside the scrim
expanding
like thought,
slow as time,
purple cabalism.
one eye
one thought
one hand, one hook –
aural –
glimpse, a flick –
flash vision – Tantalus
frustrated
multiple internal
reflectance…
by Jerry Vilhotti, from his collection of literary precis
([email]vilhotti [at] peoplepc [dot] com[/email])
When Tom was searching for Christ in Northshredder New York, where he and his third wife, a Boston “blue blood person”, had spent a year at The Society of Followers to get rid of the dirt they felt within themselves which was making the dark shadow on their souls grow, he reasoned that indeed Christ had feigned a limp, something like the one he had due to the polio that had ravaged his baby body to leave its affect on a twisted shrunken leg with a million pimples to colonize the upper
Doc came prepared. He was wearing a parka and a heavy sweater when he got off the airplane. He had two big carry on bags and a huge duffle. Why did you bring all this stuff? I asked him. Doc looked puzzled. I left half of it at home, he said.
The next morning, we got up early and drove up to the property that Jake and I owned in the foothills of the Sierras. Our cabin was on the edge of the forest high above a lake. From the deck, we had a panoramic view oft he lake and the surrounding hills.
I had borrowed Jake’s truck so that I could transport several four by eight foot siding panels to replace the ones on the north end of the cabin that the porcupines had chewed up. Doc asked what porcupines found that was good to eat in wood siding, and I said it was the glue.
