blake ellington larson

Category: 1999: accidental poems

it’s time to start bashing in windows

to start clawing at our maker
for sending us

this close to heaven

it’s the revenge we want
not the blood

for
i’ve got my switchblade
and my topsoil

and if it doesn’t work this time

we’ll set course for the midway

and shoot down it
in an awesome
fleeting run

of fire, hell and fury

(1999)

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in the oak at home

there is a hole i have not ashed in

beside the lamp-post and the bed sheets
two red blinkers monitor my sleep

their sole concern
i do not question

in the sink
the rust is vengeful

it eludes me from the night
and into the morning

the christmas lights too
stare in on my inconveniences

they throttle and blur
the real connections

i have made with the floors

(1999)

in my dreams i’m in a car

it doesn’t matter what kind of car

as long as it has a stick shift

in my dreams
i drive it

trees pass by like memories

but my focus is on
the windshield wipers

left right
right left
repetitive and tranquil
inviting and taunting

the dream is a recurring dream
driving fast
one hand on the clutch
the other on the steering wheel
two fingers
holding a cigarette

i am on a freeway
and there are no exits
or road signs
and the road seldom curves

the driving in my sleep
is like a constant
or a throb

the dream never starts
and it never ends

i never start the engine

i never cut the engine

it’s just me and the cigarette
me and the trees

me and the black fuzzy death of tar
etched into the road
slightly ahead of the highlights

II.

when i learned to drive
it was with my twin brother
driving home from new mexico
late at night
in our mother’s motor home

both of us
staring down the interstate
four states away
like in a vex
or a hallucination
like voodoo
or some kind of deja vu

i remember mother was asleep

that my hands were clammy
stressed
locked in position

i remember jack rabbits
perched on the side of the road
in front of the brush
hind legs flexed
ready to dart

i remember feeling
a sense of forever
with my brother

the kind of feeling
god’s must feel
when they meet each other

or lovers

i remember mother told us
to keep it at sixty five
that anything more
would be too much

and i don’t remember
how long i drove
if we stopped for gas
or waited out a storm

i only remember that
at eighty miles an hour

we didn’t
get home
any faster

(1999)

i know a place

she’ll take me somewhere
if not out
then in
if not in
then out
i know a place
i take myself
when i’m feeling bruised
when i’m feeling old

(1999)

i found my desperation

tied to an amulet

on her ankle
and made love
to her entire body

and we slept
and slept
and slept

and we dreamt
and dreamt
and dreamt

and in the morning
it was
still there

(1999)

here her inspiration lies

hidden in separate and wistful silences
she is wherever i am
whenever

from the rafters of a cloudless ceiling
it rains

and as she glides

as each side of her
slow and patient soliloquy
dances ’round the room

she rounds off the world in my eyes

and for me
it becomes real

(1999)

there were no words then

as everyone talked

i couldn’t filter
language from thought
confession from dribble

i couldn’t imagine
ears poised to my pen
ears poised to my hands

i could only imagine
everyone as skeletons
drinking coffee
and staining
their bones

(1999)

the alarm goes off

and she hands me a yellow pen

my feet are all but
aching and wet

tears keep screaming her name
as if all i’ve done
was love myself

we sit up on lone lily pads
trying not to bruise
the burn
that caught our doubts

her hand on my leg
my eyes on her tongue

we mouth the words
we meant to say

and then fall asleep

(1999)

she slows it down in me

as if something startled

woke against a great tide

like sculptures that fall in themselves
or words that have had no presence

she stops me
mid-step

her voice
throws wind at my arrows

and as i go from black to white
and back again

i wait for a response
i beg to be known
i lean to kiss her through the cold

i lean to kiss the face
that kisses me

(1999)

her sleeping reminds me how to breathe

makes me want to crawl inside

the hollow of her silence

drink from the wake of her longing

and swallow her whole

(1999)

may her heart grow wings

like they already have had

a pair of eyes

that flew

into my heart

(1999)