April 5 & 6: Two Jeffrey McDaniel Poems
April 5th: "when the truth is my toes tingle like the capital of Venezuela."
Caracas
I wish slitting the wrist of the clock
would let this moment last forever--
your tongue is so deep in my ear
it feels like a paintbrush, coating
the dark, peeling walls inside my head
with a carmine veneer. I was expecting
you to run, when you saw the cartilage
in the closet. I was prepared to chase
after and whisper you have beautiful
footsteps, when the truth is you make
my toes tingle like the capital of Venezuela.
I know loving me isn’t easy-- the all-night
helicopter parties, the glow-in-the-dark
haircuts, but when I look at you
it’s like praying with my eyes. I know
it’s stupid to not own a gun yet have
so many triggers, but in some other world
gigantic seashells hold humans
to their ears and listen to the echo
of machines. I apologize for the fossils
growing on the dishes, how the rug is covered
with cocktail umbrellas when you wake up,
it was raining margaritas, and the stars
came on backwards last night.
April 6th: "If it's any consolation, when your wife took me in her mouth, I closed my eyes and pretended I was a piece of wedding cake."
Dear Man Whose Marriage I Wrecked
If it's any consolation, when your wife took me
in her mouth, I closed my eyes and pretended
I was a piece of wedding cake. I was the instigator,
bringing her flowers so often her co-workers
nicknamed me carnation hands. At night, I'd look
at the stars and slither my petals through her hair.
It was like we were on Mars-- me staring over
her skull at one moon, her gazing at another.
What I'm really trying to say is I tumbled into her
arms like a thousand reluctant dominoes.
I mean, isn't it odd-- how you can buy a lap dance,
phone sex, or blowjob in a snap, but can't
pay a person a dollar to just sit next to you
on a park bench and simply hold your hand?
Caracas
I wish slitting the wrist of the clock
would let this moment last forever--
your tongue is so deep in my ear
it feels like a paintbrush, coating
the dark, peeling walls inside my head
with a carmine veneer. I was expecting
you to run, when you saw the cartilage
in the closet. I was prepared to chase
after and whisper you have beautiful
footsteps, when the truth is you make
my toes tingle like the capital of Venezuela.
I know loving me isn’t easy-- the all-night
helicopter parties, the glow-in-the-dark
haircuts, but when I look at you
it’s like praying with my eyes. I know
it’s stupid to not own a gun yet have
so many triggers, but in some other world
gigantic seashells hold humans
to their ears and listen to the echo
of machines. I apologize for the fossils
growing on the dishes, how the rug is covered
with cocktail umbrellas when you wake up,
it was raining margaritas, and the stars
came on backwards last night.
April 6th: "If it's any consolation, when your wife took me in her mouth, I closed my eyes and pretended I was a piece of wedding cake."
Dear Man Whose Marriage I Wrecked
If it's any consolation, when your wife took me
in her mouth, I closed my eyes and pretended
I was a piece of wedding cake. I was the instigator,
bringing her flowers so often her co-workers
nicknamed me carnation hands. At night, I'd look
at the stars and slither my petals through her hair.
It was like we were on Mars-- me staring over
her skull at one moon, her gazing at another.
What I'm really trying to say is I tumbled into her
arms like a thousand reluctant dominoes.
I mean, isn't it odd-- how you can buy a lap dance,
phone sex, or blowjob in a snap, but can't
pay a person a dollar to just sit next to you
on a park bench and simply hold your hand?