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Three Poems
by Stefi
Weisburd
Scenes
from a Little God Childhood
A little god, wrapped in popsicle sticks, feathers
and tape, is dropped from a second story
castle turret along with a dozen
eggs bundled, by little hands,
in bubble wrap, springs and letters of love.
While big gods on the fishing boat
orchestrate sunset, a little god projects
Aurora Borealis on a landed dorados' scales
then sneaks it back into the sea.
Before the world is ransacked by flowers,
little little gods at the Divine Preschool dig up
dinosaur fossils. A girl god with paramecium eyes
thinks they look suspiciously like wishbones.
In the class photo, she is Mystery, sitting
in the front row with her hands
foraging up under her skirt.
My
body, the government palace
in which M. Fat is a doled bureaucrat
filling
in forms, sweating like a swamp
hound,
ignoring the supplicant bones
with
their hats in their hands, in line
with
their futile petitions to reduce
the
burgeoning overhead. M. Fat
with
fish eyes too yellow to be
real,
laughs & all the lackeys
tongues,
in resonance, vibrate.
Failed
Orgasm in a Room Stuffed with Metaphors
The
cantilevered
conveyor belt
begins to roll in the
juice, the kettles nudged
beyond simmer. Breath bottled
in its piston, a whir of nerves erecting
a pyre, and
Yes? Oh alright, let the volcano
in too. Can you squeeze in back there near the
roman candles and the cherry bomb? Hey! Rose bud
swelling in stilettos, move a bit to your left. There. Now,
where
were we? Ah yes, the skins tight echo, the conductor ramping
up to
the crescendo, the mantle lit & stirring, fountain filling,
brimming, almost
Hold on. Is that a snail of doubt I see crawling on the conductors
baton?
And why do the strings seem more interested in lint than tremolo?
Bell
ringers, where are you going? No, I havent seen your clappers,
but thats no reason
Oh great, now the volcanos
blown
out. You just got here, Chump! Look! The conductor
is pulling out photos of his kids, and his mother
for Christs sake. The rockets flopped to the
launch pad, the flower folds, ecstasy,
slurped back in its genii bottle,
the trains out of service.
Fantasies! Not you
too! Theyre re-
trieving their
(turn) coats
from the
hostesss
bed,
saying
what a
lovely
time
they
had,
lying
through
their
faked
teeth. |
Stefi Weisburd's first book The Wind-Up Gods
will be released from Black Lawrence Press in early 2008. Barefoot,
a collection of poems for children will be available February 2008. |