Poems

Four of my poems are in the latest issue (pdf) of Origami Condom. You’ll have to scroll down quite a bit for the poems. I’m republishing two of them here:

Desire.15.

Intensity had its failings that summer.
We clambered over cartons in the store-room,
stumbled in semi-light. Your fingers played
at ineptitude. I act like I know the impatience
of hands. I wonder if any of my friends
have done this.
They attended special

classes for French, stooped
over Le Soleil, repeated verbs in monotone—
naitre, revoir, mourir—maundered later
at the arcade where boys in black leather
leaked cigarette smoke out of their mouths

while mother at the dining table
illustrated latitudes and longitudes
to a recalcitrant son, her voice taut
as sitar strings, her eyes patient as stars.
I pretend interest. I pass food
from plate to mouth.
The walls receded

into the shapes of your face. I wait
for the next humid or rain-stopped afternoon
when your fingers will find their way
into the right places.


***

Totem

After his hair fell out in clumps,
it skulked everywhere. On his pillow.
The back of the sofa where he leaned
his head. In the drain.

Coarse black strands like handloom cotton.

He took to rubbing his hand
across the shrubby baldness
like other people smooth beards
or lift moustache edges
with agile, self-conscious fingers.

It was more than acceptance
or coming to terms. It was almost
vanity.

His head:
its brown soft as caramel, faintly wrinkled,
totem that had watched over us for so long,
now bursting like a sack, neat tumors
jostling in there like potatoes,
bulged frailer in the lamplight every day.

***


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