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Bright Head
by Dean Young
Unspeakable things have happened to you
but so too speakable. You've soaked up
a lot. When I painted the door blue,
you came through. As one gets older,
there's more and more of you in the past,
mostly unnoticed at the time like
a foot that does not hurt. A man
walks into a bar. In 1976,
you were a mimosa outside my window
I could climb to get in my window.
Damn you, I don't know what you are
so you become a foreign language, traffic,
goo. A spider climbs out of my shoe.
The voice cries out. Only the moon
answers. The winged males fall to earth
and are eaten by trout. Darling, I
am tired and worn. My shirt is torn
where twice it has been sewn. Sometimes
I love you most when you are filled
with little seeds. You grow opaque
when heated, something happening
to your proteins. I've seen you ruined
by spring drizzle but survive suicides.
The Irish think they own you but you sleep
beside me like a bride. i have tried
to refrain from freakish movements,
a long spike sticking out my chest
like a highly ineffective way of attracting
a mate. I have tried to keep my answers
under sixty seconds, my dead father
in his hundredth mask spare-changing
outside Radio Shack. A giraffe's heart
is two feet long. A slow roux is a due roux.
Bright head, weird heart. Knock knock.
When you are the Golden Gate, your toll's
$3 going south. When you are a lion,
we can find you by sedning beaters
into the bush but you are most yourself
when you find us. Excuse me, is that your
car alarm? Translation: please take off
your clothes. In 1968, you were given to me
in the form of a rubber snake by my uncle
with a string of firecrackers.
The last time I saw him, he couldn't
work the 3,000 muscles it takes to say
Get me out of here. It was cake time.
I had been sorely afraid but Go ahead,
you said, jump. The chute opens.
by Dean Young
Unspeakable things have happened to you
but so too speakable. You've soaked up
a lot. When I painted the door blue,
you came through. As one gets older,
there's more and more of you in the past,
mostly unnoticed at the time like
a foot that does not hurt. A man
walks into a bar. In 1976,
you were a mimosa outside my window
I could climb to get in my window.
Damn you, I don't know what you are
so you become a foreign language, traffic,
goo. A spider climbs out of my shoe.
The voice cries out. Only the moon
answers. The winged males fall to earth
and are eaten by trout. Darling, I
am tired and worn. My shirt is torn
where twice it has been sewn. Sometimes
I love you most when you are filled
with little seeds. You grow opaque
when heated, something happening
to your proteins. I've seen you ruined
by spring drizzle but survive suicides.
The Irish think they own you but you sleep
beside me like a bride. i have tried
to refrain from freakish movements,
a long spike sticking out my chest
like a highly ineffective way of attracting
a mate. I have tried to keep my answers
under sixty seconds, my dead father
in his hundredth mask spare-changing
outside Radio Shack. A giraffe's heart
is two feet long. A slow roux is a due roux.
Bright head, weird heart. Knock knock.
When you are the Golden Gate, your toll's
$3 going south. When you are a lion,
we can find you by sedning beaters
into the bush but you are most yourself
when you find us. Excuse me, is that your
car alarm? Translation: please take off
your clothes. In 1968, you were given to me
in the form of a rubber snake by my uncle
with a string of firecrackers.
The last time I saw him, he couldn't
work the 3,000 muscles it takes to say
Get me out of here. It was cake time.
I had been sorely afraid but Go ahead,
you said, jump. The chute opens.