An American Papyrus: 25 Poems | Page 8

it into an empty beer can...?The gal with the deep dark-ocean eyes...?The maddog gal, grip that wine glass now.?For Gabriele, you smile at everyone with meaning?You are as together as a feather when a huirricane is?in town,?And when the hangover's over and your own insight has?Fragmented you from a million pieces to a billion,?My stiff polar bear arms?Shall poke and not embrace.
I sit back at this party I am hosting--?My back firmly pushing against the back of my chair,?And my head and eyes cocked.?You all are the performers this time...?And Gabriele, you are the main attraction,?Attracted, after this night, to the omni-present sense?of your?Smashed self; and me--?Sensitive little me in no man's land?Where no man wanted to grasp me from...?And no woman--?Mended back together in thy survivalistic polar bear?image.

Becky's Demon
"Something happend.?i don't have those visions anymore."?And you believe with a mind like Papa believed with?When i told him i could see things?Clearly before they actually?Were.
His back and forth pacing from those same two?windows--?Which had been like a toy soldier powered on a human?battery?With a three minute's stand at one, and then the next,
Suddenly stopped. For i was different. You annointed?me?And cast me out. i was alone. You caused me to hide?Beside a pitchfork in the shadows of the corners of?the barn.?Yes. Papa stopped. His eyes moved. i'd never seen?his eyes move?Before.?They stared down at me. My child's eyes?Below--and he aimed his for them as a fisher for prey?in clear waters.?i backed up behind the pipe of the kitchen stove..?But with one stretch he reached his arm over?Like a bear's paw that in force comes down like a?Redwood.
my knee aching as if broken, i crutched up?From the other side of the room, beside the door....?Then, bending on my knees the next conscious second--?Feeling the blood of knee caps sticking to hay and?dirt--?Seeing the sun poke like sticks through rafters and?cobwebs--?Thinking i grabbed a hold on the sunlight which could?Lift me?Up like a rope; but grasping the pitchfork--?Raising the pitchfork--?Pitching the pitchfork--?After hearing the creaking and scraping of the opening?barn door?Plowing?The top soil of the dry earth. Thinking: he would?never kill?my shadowy corner.
II?And in this plush chair of the Bishop's office i sit a?decade?And a half later--a Salem witch of the west explaining?her?Dull, trembling self before three Mormon men bending?above?me.?But you don't understand me, as if anyone ever has.?i had psychic abilities. But you don't want them, so?they're?Gone;?And i'm good. i no longer believe, Bish'y, that I saw?Benson?Dying?And Yourself rising above the?Twelve.?But You're still scared of me. You only want to?annoint me?And cast me out. You only want me to hide in a barn,?And belong to shadows.?You call my abilities a possession of a demon.
Papa doubted i could see; and you see me as perverted.
But you do see that i see...?That i have something with some power.?You and the Missionaries lay your hands on me...?me who left my Protestant roots so as to be rooted in?your?Family.?You put your cold hands on my forehead,?Trying to vacuum out my psychic abilities,?Which i tell you are no longer--?Trying to take away my saying that i'm okay...?i'm good. Speak to me. Don't cast me out and leave.

Where, Oh Where, Did The Mall-Lady Go?
They wanted her to drop her thoughts?As naturally as her underpants fell, after they were?Over the hips, so the steaming winds of her daily?showers?Could clear her of encroaching stain?As she had been cleared away.
They were a function, ignorant of their thinking,?charting?Charts. She felt she would have to ignore these?doctors and?Nurses in the mental ward.?She would have to ignore the pacing patients?Asking cigarettes from her.?The hall was rectangular.?Everyone moved rectangularly.
She would go to dreams of past realities?Where she was watching the shoppers' reflections?As they passed mall's little fountains--?Different types of people-reflections but all silvery?In the still of the waters,?Happy and part of the lives of the mall.?She would imagine herself sitting on a metal bench--?packages of her new clothing pulling on arms and chest
Like the recalling torpor that came more easily?To her lower legs; the weight of the mink that arched?Her aching shoulders more like a lady;?And a small sack of chocolate stars?Touching her upper neck--?Wondering what packages her fellow-creatures?Bought to be brought home and to whom?They brought them to.?And then, as the locks of solitude clicked in her?consciousness,?Came the wondering of where, oh where,?Did the Mall-Lady go?

Savior-Searcher In The Bible-Belt
I can see you in those dry moments, then?As clearly as if I were there: staring at the cracks?Of the white ceiling above the bedpost, wondering if?You will slip down three flights to the outer darkness
Like your ex-Mormon roomate, here. Your visual mind,?Against your will, probably thinks about your squirm?That a few moments ago squirmed you of your juice,?Wiggled her skirt back on, resurfaced the lip-spit?Crackup in her concrete of makeup, and wordless,?Walked like a princess out the door.?As the last of the ecstatic vibrations