Four Poems by Jesse S. Mitchell

Posted on Updated on

Four Poems 

by

Jesse S. Mitchell

 

Yorba Linda’s Cephalopod Blues

 

So, screech the cyanide strings

And glow the Baba Yaga shine

And love the lemon yellow sun

And dance the barbed wire whirl.

And always

Always

More and more

More sang rouge than Khmer Rouge

Because that’s blood

Blood

It’s heintei  twister girls

All cyclone breathing and never sleeping

Hot and heavy, until you cannot imagine calm.

Makes a hollow in the center, all the stirring, the churning, in the heart.

Just keep you spinning

Spinning

Like a rotating planet (big hairy knuckled rock) in orbit

Orbit

Orbit

Until you read your name in the obit.

 

gringolandia

 

I believed myself awake then but only half-drowsy and half-dreaming, oh merciful God, a certain kind of violence written across my brain, curved cursive handwriting and between the etched and entwining loops and spaces I saw a pause and for a moment the silences replicated stingy threads like DNA (proteins stuck clinging to each other, pornography) and through the pauses I saw visions, heaven help me.  There I dreamed of Mexico but no black Madonnas or border towns but Chiapas, Emiliano Zapata, there revolutions, honey spun, a thin strand of spider silk that connects to every corner, shaking like candy floss along the coast from Cardiff to Bristol or home Atlantic, some beach drenched lovers surely cryptic, in the sun, breathed too the same air in my lungs, fueled by similar oxygen and other molecules.  And all over my body I felt a breeze, a cool breeze from the north, an all over wind, a numbing that means complacency for I am on the rung American…but reaching upward always, grasping for the next.  So, all I know is smothered .  I cover my wounds with grease and ash and leave the faintest footprints, carrying away the rest.

 

Cartagena

 

And rainy streets that stumble down and sudden downpours that drench your feet and back alleyway-drifts that spring up in hectic fits

Fits

and corners stuffed with this independent business,

Tempting-changeling like bower birds, trying to make a go of it. Carnival barkers and newsprint shills, broken off words and movie deals.

And what heaven acquires…

Overcome and drowsy down, hazy trace and spirit bound.

Hell loses…

And tastes like blood-spit

The sort of thing that happens with busted lip.

And what Hell loses…

All sensation

And all gone.

Earth regrets…

And looks blurred green sky

The kind of distance that comes

With hard-crossed eyes.

And what Earth regrets…

Or with falling down and smacking face

Knocks you brutal all over the place.

Dazed

Man forgets.

From careful tedium, strolling soaked

Through tepid wet Cartagena

 

 

Pazzia

 

I had a dream that was the same as Romeo and Juliet.

Except in this case the hero of the story was a small coiling spiral

Of double helix DNA

And it was a tiny lump of highly protein encrusted couch fluff

To which it was conjoined.

And they floated together on hot air currents

Billowing around the world

Looking for a simple pool of their own in which to self-replicate.

And thoughts traveling wildly across their minds (what minds you could speak of, little synapse and sparkling little cell-buds and ganglia)

like how different would  Cabaret have been

If David Mamet had written all the lines for Sally Bowles

And how much they both hated the work of Paul Theroux,

And how much of the history of the human race on Earth

Is basically a big iron screw jammed in the middle

Of a large misshapen clay ball.

And how we all could use some more productive occupation.

 

Bio: Jesse S. Mitchell writes books, has a wife and kids, and dislikes
the slow disintegration of time, immensely.
Poetic statement: I mean to make noise, a great deal of noise, so much
noise it will be impossible to ignore.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s