3 Poems & 2 Collages
by Lucy Ives

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It is starting to change right at this moment and I can actually bring you
with me, there will be no need for an argument and no need for you to go
downstairs to lace your thighs over me or to tie them on tighter still
I promise not to do any appearing this evening
I promise not to mix myself in the buttery stream of your automated answering
system and to live like a nun without the appeal of forms or any recourse
to a signature or a walk.
The moon inside the television has a terrible appeal, and I so
want to climb out of your breast again.  I can hear the moon
It is talking about wiping marks from very important glass, and
also it is going on about a kind of sweating sickness in which victims
are known to pass their bodies through themselves.
But isn’t that what we are doing?  And I want
to climb out of you and tell you what I heard was being discussed
but you are busy using the surface for a very important ritual
I would not want the delicate motor you are brushing with a needle to
become the hair of a camel and fall into the dainty slip of the electric
socket here in our plastic home
Things canget so little around me.  Things!
I’ve just always loved going on about them, trying to lift them if they
looked sticky or putting them in the appropriate type of away if they
were granular.  And I say, you aren’t getting worried about me are you?
I’m so lonely inside the gorilla.  Lonely and special

 

 

My eyes shake with a motor of sugar inside them and my eyes hum like bees
They know what a vacation is, and they know the placid rectangle of the weekend
when it comes to haunt a collared shirt
No one knows how to leave a lasso in the sky for hours on end except for
the winged man I met, and then later, with a pay-increase, my shadow knows
My shadow, it follows me on cherry-colored feet sipping water from a red leaf, its other hand stuck in an envelope
Oh sweet bells sinking in honey, do you do what you do for the curl of a single eye or for many
Do we all run away just to look dewy
I know what you are thinking, you think this is born of resentment, that
I come to the very boring side of your bed with the tin ear of one who has learned nothing
But nothing’s so much for a young girl
Nothing is her bread and slash of butter
We should do this every day: I’ll stay in here and watch the man in the bright
hat digging a grave just beyond my door
You will exhale a petunia cloud, you will grow thoughts with plump wheels
You are riding to town

 

 

I had time to myself which was confusion
I had powers
I had aces in my sleeve and a daisy
I had an antidote and a limit
I had willingness
I had a tight envy that rounded out the hours
I had a wing I gave away
I had a sash of light over my eyes
I had a scissors in my hands
I had the sentence you said before speaking
I had a father who laid down in the air
I had a father with a white stamp in his mouth
I had a string to carry what I needed
I had to walk across the city
I woke up underneath the earth
I had long lines painted on me
I had early morning and a book of frozen rivers
I saw young girls with a red line through their eyes
I had no way to speak
I had a thick way of seeing to him
I had gold no one could see
I had a throwing rock
I had an open mouth
I had no one when I was gentle
I had ten tries to move towards the center of the road
I had sixteen arrows on the page
I had one hundred arrows on a cloud
I had a tiny stitch on the back of my hand
I broke the heat of the sun into pieces
I had a window and a sword