Etudes & The night after
by John Findura
[ poetry - march 10 ]
Etudes
Etude #1
When the controller relents
to stave off thinking and motion
the well automatically fills itself
Wells abhor vacancy like a cheap
motel - love, find one for us
Etude #2
Finish the Goddamn thought
before you imperil us all
with your willfully sore tongue
Now use your tongue for what it
was meant and thrash me, for Christ's sake
Etude #3
I have lived so long without
contact from you
that every voice might just be yours
With all these ghosts in my mouth
I almost believe that you're real
Etude #4
You'll bet that I can fix everything
with words and nothing but beautiful
words that run from my tongue
I'll bet you keep your eyes on me
the entire time that you go down
Etude #5
I make up names for you each time
a new section of you becomes visible
from five thousand miles away
Some of these names are "Love,"
"Mercedes," "Marlena," and "I"
The night after
The lighthouse has been undermined by flashes of chalky wave,
pointed crags are smoothed over by the fresh slap of repetition
Now an airliner points down into the dark ocean, scattered moon
light reflecting off the breakers, only taillights sending a last sign
This corner is maroon and black, barely covering the last blue
strokes, pulling the eyes violently away from the glaze of red
A bearded man with no hat and large eyebrows calmly smoking
his cigar, as he usually does on nights like these, after sunset
There's the open mouth, the mewling about to begin with nothing
but the deepest colors there and they absorb all this like a riddle
