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January 13, 2017 Poetry

Three Poems

CL Bledsoe & Michael Gushue

Three Poems photo

A Sternly Worded Letter of Admonition, Re: Life

In the far-flung depths of the future, historians
will look back to this day and say, "This
is where it all went wrong." But they'll speak
in the language of super-evolved 'possums.
This is the day I chose to live rather than be living.
No more appeasing mustachioed madmen.
No more candy bars with caramel inside chocolate.
Well, maybe a few of those. The simple truth is:
if you're going to kill the whole world,
you're going to have to start getting up earlier.
Do a few sit-ups. Learn how to aim. Stop valuing
anything. Jettison all this getting ahead business.
Share the love. Share the road. Open a free range,
humane, ‘possum farm. Listen very closely.

This is How the Rain Gets In

When it rains, and the little monsters
come out of my beard to sing
about the joys they deny themselves,
I'm reminded of the particular shade
of your eyes, which doesn’t exist in nature.
It could only be seen by streetlight
in the front seat of an Impala parked
on a street that dead ends at the water
reservoir, the one they dragged all those
dead clowns out of. It’s raining, and there’s
a hole in the roof of everything. The little
monsters that hide behind my teeth
argue with all the old girlfriends
that hide in the back of my brain.
If I let them get loud enough, they'll drown
each other out. It will be something like peace.

Bird(brain) Song

Just because it rains doesn't mean you washed
your car. The cruelest aspect of the universe
is its randomness. Also, puppies with floppy ears.
There are whole species of birds destroyed before
they could ever wake anyone on a Saturday morning.
I'm trying to explain the color of her eyes.
In certain island languages, “cameo
brooch” means “I have sold my grandmother
for a gourd, a fish, and some feathers.”
Almost every living thing is trying
to fool some other living thing into coming
a little bit closer. There are spots on the moon
that hurt when you touch them. I am trying
to explain what she looks like listening
to music with her eyes closed the last time
I’ll ever see her. Sometimes the randomness
of the universe is the kindest thing
you can believe in.


image: David Wright