Friday, April 23, 2010

25.30 imaginary yard sale

i wish i could dump some of these rooms

over grass, a lawn, a suburbia of home-made signs

lemonade stands

and old dart boards, mugs,barstools and that sort of kitsch

for sale

better,the battalions of insects

on the fringes of fences and the other side

of tinted glass

they are everywhere

and multiplying
sell off their shutters
film, telephoto and digital grains.

i gave up that life of concrete curbs

and unnattended walks so long ago

they seem like a character i played.

our version of a yard sale

is the anonymous donation

the auction block resurfacing of vases


or the house party fundraiser

where every guest donates

a red carpet dress or accessory

with a photo of proof attached

sometimes these are for foundations

a politician

a social activist's lawyer fee.

this is what we do with our philanthropy

we have assistants and accountants

this is what it means to be rich
you delegate the tedious
and hire people to decide for you
what happens to the little things.

it's fun to pretend

what i would garage sell

a drawer of underwear, silk stockings

velvet gloves

whether or not i ever wore them

unimportant to the illusion that i have.

really, i can and do get away

with not wearing any
undergarmets hinder breathing
and if you're boyish enough
you're free.

we have too many gifts

letters, idols, carved buddhas

and little wooden temples, window frames
i've no use for now that i live fully
on the outside

i imagine a host of houses
front yard as lanfill of cutlery, plates, fabrics and furniture

cast offs from interior decorators

shoes, ink cartridges

ordinary objects and the usual old machines

sets of matching gifts and toys

unopened or left as the litter of any ordinary attic.

my favorite selling points would be the curiosities

in jars

the things i peeled from myself

or once held sacred

like the necklaces of piranha teeth i wore

the rocks i collected in hawaii

the human bones i found on a roadside in east asia

bits of flesh i saved from tattoos, the original ink

in little sheets of first draft

before the image truly settles.

i know
it's my lips you want
my perfect, kissable, cocksucker lips
but you just
can't have them

No comments:

Post a Comment