catherine wagner

 

COMING AND I DID NOT RUN AWAY

 

STILL not finished review

but productive day and feeling

GÜT

like a fine mama

SHÜT

putting down some

RÜTS

like the lost queen

TOOT

 

TOOT

TÜT TÜT TÜT

Brand spankin hanky pankin

  new periodical

    in my uterus

yest I cried

thought I was going

NÜTSO

Not So       Ah so? yes it was just

a periodical

making me illogical

not wrong though

I was not wrong

 

I saw the “usual turn of phrase”

coming and I did not run away

I lay around

 

 

THIS IS A FUCKING POEM

 

don’t expect too much.

 

Well I expect you to go into the

fucking human tunnel

I’m going.

 

pink grimy glossed

entabulature, welted

and tattooed. Enfolded in

ropy ceiling-hangings

but it isn’t a room,

 

and bumblingly sliding

out, little legs of

 

a little girl, bum on the wall/opening

 

pink legs sticking out like a

hermit crab’s, she’s coming!

 

shudder out the little-girl

legs with a little

girl head mostly eyes, no ears,

bug brain, aimless

 

Send her to school

 

It’s cold, and where should she

go, she will eat her

legs with her mandibles

 

her eyes will retract inside.

 

Stroke her riding hood

Settle down, little

 

nobody will hurtcha

 

by breaking off your little legs,

six little legs,

if you come.

 

 

AMONG THE ORDERS

 

“Who if I cried,” says the homeless man about to fuck the homeless woman under

the expressway river overpass

“Would hear me among the animals bipedal

 

in Oxford, Ohio?”

 

Not I, says the author.

What I assume you shall assume.

 

“We are not fucking for us then, we’re fucking for you.”

 

You’re fucking so I can work out what happens in the poem when you fuck.

 

“Postmodern we could

wander off—”

 

Then who will fuck you.

 

 

The difference between “That feels so good”

and “You’re being so good.”

 

Homeless, you can’t be good

 

there’s no slot for you to fit in

 

to fulfill our hopes for you

if we had any.

 

Shut up disappear, that would be good.

 

“Good” if you don’t sleep in the doorway.

 

His cock is beautiful though

his body gray dried skin and dirt

his cock is clean, and his stomach and chest

are saggy and bones, but the cock is vibrant pact

of blood.

 

He saw her masturbate, he waded to her

she regarded him, eyes whiteglow

  against dirt and in the streaking

light

 

Galumph palindrome

 

She put her hand on his    tightened and pulled

him toward her on the ground

 

  her head barely out of the water

rising between

the rooms I was  washing.