cool

 

 

it was yesterday

in an ice cube

when I saw them in the ice.

 

when I looked up from the ice water

everyone was singing the same

empty song, as if they didn't

know what time it was.

I couldn't tell if I was alone.

 

I disappeared, looking at their hands

as they walked

carefully along the beach.

 

they took my hand

and I felt my breath

catch in the cold.

 

they took me to John Muir's ghost

sitting on a tree stump

and his eyes were full of fields,

tears, and lost valleys,

rushing water.

he took us to California

(we had a great time.)

 

I looked out again from the ice cube.

just to make sure.

and I shivered

as they looked

at the empty bar stool blankly,

but no one really seemed

to notice.

 

they forgot the rule of flight, in madness:

the truth

could not be priced

beauty

could not be bartered

for the reality of flowers

or how fun sex was

 

before the ocean was polluted

and everything wild

died

and all the money was worth

less than the trees it was

made of

 

he took one last look at the ocean.

his hand closed over hers.

their hair was long

like a luxury, like fields.

it blew in the wind and

they watched the waves

 

and

moonlight

was all that was left,

glittering on the surf.

keeping warm by staying close.

the concrete and glass was

cool on their backs.

sharing the rest of the air,

the water.

 

looking up for a planet

to jump to

among all those bright stars

they could no longer see

after the telescopes exploded.

 

words

one

at a time

yes

no

sometimes maybe they spoke

each other's names,

mostly

they held hands.

 

the winds blew them away.

 

everyone seemed so blind,

so very

cool.

 

one last look at the ocean

 

 

 

©1989

Amy Jackson

 

 

 

 

Play Dead

 

 

 

roll over, wheeler dealer time,

flick a brick into a spot of crime,

singe the sparkles in her eyes,

sparks from her flying surgeon wild mind,

 

... cut, while sleeping, winking, fatally,

seventeen and thirty-two dozen,

million-ten silences, scalpels

frozen axle spokes, ruby-studded axes slice

into a single greeting card rainbow,

the gleeful gnome frolicking underneath,

glittering simple man, embracing the

fetid charm of hot pink, and fully-lined,

straight jackets blowing across a glowing emerald lawn,

 

glinting gumdrop eyelids flower on the sugar-coated screen,

throw them magic money for tasting Mr. Clean,

selling six slick sex scandals with the twist of some hip,

or the slant of her mouth on a zesty chicken wing

 

freed from the flaming obelisk yet draped in stinking tar

the golden flea he leadeth thee, he bleeding in the sunshine

at twenty-three for free, roll over, quite dead the nimble

 

mind,

 

Do you mind?

 

 

 

 

©1989

 

after Tienamen Square, watching CNN

Amy Jackson

 

 

 

 

week

 

 

 

she eats flowers on Tuesdays, blue ones, otherwise she doesn't care

her eyes turn blue, flown away the petals, sparks from her tongue

 

she wakes up late Wednesdays and of course years wondering where she has

dreamed and where she was real, asleep in her screams, tears the sheets of

paper from her dandelion body without a wish

 

Thursdays she reads the sky-winds, listens to all clouds, nibbling on her

fingers like a squirrel who knows the storm, scatters up her mind to look

across and down, up without ground

 

the petals are so dry by Friday and on curbs and corners she sells them as

feathers to tourists

to whom everything quaint has a price

and she dance, and she dance, and dance until she float

 

Saturday her lover haunts her past but does not find her diamonds and her

breasts they bud for him and she swell and bloom with blood

 

Sundays all is dream of youth and maybe her fruit thrive and

fall into their mouth with truth

 

the ice of Monday chills her through to sap,

before they leave they burn the harvest remaining,

and he leave her writhing with loss

in the flame of his mouths the vision smelted into blade

for the pruning of her deaths, counter of her cycle

 

 

 

©1989

Amy Jackson

 

 

 

poetry

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