Andrew Lundwall: April 2008

RUMPUS ROOM

the moon slices like ivory
through our window we see it
deceptive breaths
shredding yesterday's bills

injured that look
down the stairs
descending slowly
it hurts to watch

it's not even funny
we're incarcerated
in eternity's rumpus room
no one's speaking


THREE SLICES OF MOON

nothing personal but i'd rather distance you - cursive all up there in my face like a blizzard of bees each letter pimped out - geography this

*

three nuns at the bar last night raised mug this bud's for you - the jukebox jester played a wicked accordion for the occasion

*

a dark cloud - was it a rorshach test or blood spatter you tell me - my game is 3D - infatuated passengers grin


SENSES

if it rains for real
decorate it this time
laurel it and let it
drop like a stone
so safe on the other side
so convenient to be


EUCHARISTIC

congregate like the washington monument
bright hydrants shapes of being awake
recurring still supplied memory we’ll hook
up thoughts dispensing fleshes steadily
like yellow lips decompressing a map
hard twists of night radically lilt
to know long returns clad in black robes
by an absence like a lifer'd found the egg


10:15 SATURDAY NIGHT

struggled up from sleep
from the glow that fires her fingers
sweet consequential sweat aloof
like lonesome in snow globe

thought that if i'd told
or if you'd stayed still
long enough if being anyone
is being everywhere else but

you've shrouded yrself in silence
excused myself from room to smoke
distracted bored long drags tilted
to find her something in my stacks


BC

lost in the raging sound
a face is splintered
through the club
and its web of smoke
all eyes die here
at their feet the ladies
shiny north pole they swirl
to stun the masses stupid
at the edge of the world
renee especially
i walk through you
your legs suit me
where i wish to move
through your eyes
offer a bouquet
to shadows
to love


© Andrew Lundwall 2008