Sunday, March 19, 2006

Clark Coolidge, Three Poems from Counting on Planet Zero


Dreamed of Ian Holm as Cable Hogue
he came in good on the vacuum frottages
the Baroness Freytag saved from circuses
and idling at the rim of divulgence
firm with parturience on a radar vine
a ring but that end is stupid
blackening with the farm engines
vittles and enough water for a cork
adverse to radio but not in youth
the sail coat came on over night
spent rolling wallets and crowing
over and over the counters rang over
the boil road a giant plant
cognizant enough to have your number
in a row you thought but it’s Pegasus
Andromeda the Silver Pig in Amethyst
robes that crystallize and you don’t
you’d best wait for the proper race
the number of the face
and its waterglass balancing squids


If you survive Absorbine placement you’ll be seen
fanning your palms in Pharaonic thensome
ever study that map around the planetarium’s axle?
I would come to if I were solvent
you could be killed for hiring a new address
breaching a cup attending to the tailor’s details
there are fortresses that dispense transparent tobaccos
or a rash of automatics stolen from lollygaggers
payoffs lying around everywhere the time is now
pyroclastic the burners used here for heatups
they must melt thumbtacks in their blood
that the ocean give one a straightening
puff and drag the marrying molesters
to the circular palace of wandering minds
beneath a sky cloaked in undergarments
if you have the cabbage to stomach it
learn to learn from the telescope not what’s in it
a brilliance you could see soak through bandages
the Flown Child trained to munch on carrion
hoping to brighten in the magic of a milktoast storm
something will always tell you how to turn
a peeling message among the tie-downs
I hadn’t glass to witness


If you walk in off the patio you’ll see
the lamp shining on my filter paper
and the country’s finest collection of goads
but it was dark in my head that night
above alone but none more capable
the signal said we wish to form
an Earth beyond your dreams
the perfect alien of wish fulfillment
lunar beds in planetary belts
no halts on the limiters
the plan was to crosscheck the children
all the crestfallen and sundry dwellers
I got a planet you couldn’t beleaguer
straight but could conquer by the load
ripe for shining alcohol on the grounds
a maybe zany bitch on a homeside ball
a crystal in the hay rick collapsible on call
a throat of tremendous heights and strengths
right comestible on hand but try not to separate
care to scrape this buzz from my flashlight?
try crawlspace stand and get a grip
a hemisphere is for the nervous pleasures
you just slip on a wrap like the uncles gave
the plot was to leave a coverage of worlds
ripe and on hand for whatever following floor