Tuesday, January 02, 2007

The Pines

Man and Wife, and Man

Elevate quiet to a hymn,

and so give royal to a bartering stem,
each molded to perform
at odds, and as compliments;

a mask that she wears—
a filthy honesty she closes in her hair,
lets us see in turn, by rights
a drinking torn

to joke of rape in the face,
the team of darts she sees on the floor.

She lays us out and charges quarters

for us to see the one she has become:
black by choice, by market demands.

The calm overgrows itself,
a king stuttering in the rambles,
dishes in the basin,
apples smarting with mites to the touch,
prints and pretends from the molding.

Man and Wife, and Man

Within the folded cloth
a single grape, and with all the prideful edge of it.

A trickle of wine made for the animus
and/or the leg. Adrenal sounds, multiple sets
swinging for coma, families in cozy corners of the field, taken to burn,

taken to talk, the slow settle of sediment
in the heart and the subsequent ballooning.

Man and Wife, and Man

The man stands large atop the hill.

The men are dead, encased in glass.

It must be something in the soil, funding the hill

into low, buck-lengths: cony and corpses,

tunnels that lead to other tunnels.

The man is holding forth

a pelt of bandages, a sauce-bottle of desiccated lake water

the town his      —fied       —ees.

The dead men are still clothed, dapper in their moldering.

It must be something in the yeast, for the bread

to taste so fresh.

In the hills,


cold kisses from the embalm-wrought doe,

flapping at the flames.

Man and Wife, and Man

Enemies. When will it be your turn?

To be the final thing to flash before the people’s eyes as they exhale.

The microphone.

In Maine, enemies exhale.

On the microphone. Popular rendition of Enemies,

of every relative we have ever asked to accompany us below decks.

And when the day comes, and everyone else knows,

someone is taking it away from you.

Off to Brazil.

In your house, at your farm, or in the mobile home by the creek.

Michael and Gail, separated and single, dance—

I need to build shelves for my kitchen.

The Pines have published work in POOL, BlazeVOX, Glitterpony, Cannibal, and elsewhere, as well as in the ongoing series The Pines (Volumes One, Two, and Three available; Volume Four forthcoming in 2007). More can be found at: thepines.blogspot.com.