Central Light Fixture
Lacking the (right) usuals
attires of reliable blue grays
fixtures in supplicating yellows
the ramrod of appeasing approachables
there was a danger inherently possible
my starry eyed glass coating, dusted thick
was shed, placed off sides, to clarify
exposing the rupture
an explosive rapture
With all switches flipped (left)
over exuberant voltage
ripped through circuits unwitting
intersections of glass shards
drew out the divisions
outlining fleshy forms
lodged in throats here
underlining their protests
stuck in eyes there
that saw it all one way
Polygons and octoshapes
laughed out loud, liberally
amused at the violence
entrails of the subterranean
making a mess
spilling out of my blue lips
without stops or gaps
falling and crashing at their wide feet
Squares and triangulations ducked away
avoiding the intrusive wake
strewn from the deck
to the living room
to the rooms that had been ghost like, sleepy
pulling up protective right angles and elbows
in it to their noses
having it up to here
Straight lines pulled over
unkinked and woke up
peeking around corners
straining stiff necks
to see who would be shaken, assaulted
or married off next
where were the impacts
and how much blood was there really
I exploded in a hexadecagon
and knew no name or face
my eyes blew out
seeing only forms desirable
my skin peeled down
melting the zero temperatures
my throat unhinged
letting words tumble
a waterfall loud and unreasonable
I am (at) left a raw current
a singularity exposed
as violence to the touch
essential to restrain (at) right
to contain with a glassy illusion
of customary well worn ways
allowing a la-di-da, I did nothing
over a live wire nerve
of I can do anything
(centered)
CHANDELIER (HUNG)
Mother showed me from the start
just how I hang up here
caught, suspended, a cool functioning
a disconnected conversation or a snafu
I am a rich landscape
of how to be hung up
With long nosed downward glances
I am suspended by my disbelief
of the necessity for shag carpeting
mica flaked popcorn ceilings
and linoleums in ochre hues
woe are these 1977 blues
Snagged on crossed wired conceptions
and spindly filament support structures
which loopty-loop about
in a self conscious
and decidedly distracted way
I am one shy bulb of burnt out
And I find myself
fifth wheeling around
with a pack of boxy shoulders
pitched haphazardly
drunken on the great heights
and pinched of purpose
we swagger and sway
this family of alternating currents
all hung out and left to dry
