T. Rex terrarium
by Brentley Frazer
[ poetry - july 12 ]
In the dark his fingers find the breasts of an animal, and it offers up a weeping nipple to the puckered lips in his palms. For a moment there I thought of bringing you down as would a beast in the wilderness... but, Truth, I am too fugitive, a king on a throne of regret.
The day has come and we’re not prepared. We swore we would be... or at least, I did.
Lord... can you hear me? I have discovered that I am a copy of myself... and there was never an original.
The Lord laughs, saying “Like money... the order of sorcery.”
Help?
Please?
The third face in the wall protrudes its tongue. Thrashing like a bag of kittens in a pond. The fourth face, in the door downstairs, is speaking of maladies... day after day the same awakening... data-storms... bulbs flashing in the garden... skeletons... jack-boots.
Nothing in her bag but a hammer and tobacco. Fenced in by her and a row of prams at welfare. In her eyes, uncrossed bridges sent asunder... burned by red tape, and vanity.
Lucky... I found enough money in the gutter to get drunk this afternoon. I saw things in terminals said to be concealed. The stony face of accusation staring back at me. The sacramental order. A relief in landscape. Silos like collapsed photographs. Abandoned boulevards where reeds and refuse fill the fountains.
The hum of blue machines at the foundry.
...
I bet you had some miniature T. Rexes in a terrarium when a kid, and a magic hat filled with candy forever...
