Studies in Materialism

Three Poems: Volume I

Author’s Note: Previously posted as notes. Now in one place.

shot with olympus om2n. nyc. 2018.

BETWEEN ME AND THE GROUND.

step out my way god,
this here’s my pissin pot.

i set it down at the edge of the field
where the fence gave out in two places.

don’t come blessin it.
don’t name it.
i know what it is.

i been carryin it all day.
if it spills, it spills.

that’s between me and the ground.

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VOICES.

i found your voicemail living in the sink
face down in a bowl of cold dishwater
still blinking like it wanted out

don’t tell me you forgot to answer it.
it’s been pacing in there all afternoon,
trying on voices like tutus on a hobo.

i picked it up and it slipped a bit—
said my name all wrong, then
said it better,
then said it the way ma used to say
when I was just an egg inside her.

you always let things ring themselves thin.
let them wilt on the line
until they start beefing up in the moonlight.

this one’s grown legs.
left damp prints across the counter.
opened the fridge and stood there
hum-hum-humming.

i’m not answering it for you.
no way—i don’t like how it looks at me
poison eyes remembering
something i haven’t even done yet.

it keeps dialing out on its own now.
keeps asking for people who haven’t been born.

come deal with it.
come.
it’s starting to sound like you.

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BAD COPY.

i press the shape of myself into
the dripping belgian batter

and it takes me badly—
bubbles rising like failed lungs,
a scent already turning.

it grips and slips at once,
lukewarm, unwilling to decide.

i keep pressing—
it roams,
gathers where it should not gather.

surface puckers, opens,
closes again around nothing.

a thin froth dribbles up the sides,
sour, faintly sweet,
already spoiled.

i feel it take an impression
and lose it immediately,
over and over,
as if it cannot remember what I am.

then,
the iron comes down.

a wet hiss, something trapped and working.
odours thicken,
turns on itself—smoke, the smoke!

when it opens, i come apart in pieces—
supple and neatly portioned,
piping hot, ready to serve.

each square holding a bad copy,
each one leaking into the next.

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