Here we are--part 4 of my 6 piece poetry submission to "The New Yorker" magazine. I'm not a big fan of abstract and unorthodox usage of the page when it comes to writing poems--but this was one of those pieces where I had this incredibly vivid dream...that was completely all over the place...and I had to somehow distill the randomness into the writing so I just started tabbing all over the page as I wrote.
This is a piece that had NO REVISIONS...it's as is...straight from the horse's mouth.
And no--I won't tell you who it's about...
Have a great weekend--2 more poems left.
our mouths touched, but remained closed and I said "Oh, by the way,"
as I dreamt of copper tones with warm conductive resonance
once; my sandy fingers cut you, miniscule, in your abstract:
I sighed, "I slept a sleep I can only dream about,"
with your breast lightly grazing my cheek-leaving a hot mark like a slap.
I opened my eyes and you vanished;
I tried and I tried to find you.
I rambled all over...
...and fought dancing angry Asian dragon men...
...who hurled empty bottles of fire at my feet,
there are only so many things that have already been shattered about glass.
I witnessed our armed forces lose their battle with ‘the sauce'.
I danced a meaningful scherzo across the morning
side amongst the overgrowths-
the nosferatu, my audience...
I was apposite for pensive seconds.
(Do you remember my index grazing the soft pale
curve under your belly button?
We were lying in the trunk of a red sports car...)
(Do you remember how I fingered your collar, a bone of all those years ago, amongst the odors of tempura paint and pottery clay?)
Lying awake, I can hear the truth ominously noting itself with a murmur
as my ego pounces upon our creation shrieking violins, the thundering, an avalanche.
© 2008 Steve Ekstrom
Causes Steven Ekstrom Supports
The HERO Initative