Tuesday, December 24, 2013

over on the fireplace mantle / twenty-five year olds walk by / nothing she does is accidental

Justin Hyde lives in Iowa.  More of his work can be found here: http://poets.nyq.org/poet/justinhyde

//over on the fireplace mantle//

my girlfriend
has hung up
five stockings:

her and her two boys


me and my son.

i know you guys
don't live here
but it feels
like family.

yesterday afternoon
my dick 
was in the mouth
of an indonesian woman.

this troubles me less
than a
broken pencil

though something
in my thyroid
aches slightly
at the death of disney

diarrhea on
another clean slate.

this morning
my girlfriend
is out running in
this -2 degree weather

my boy
and her two boys
are upstairs wrestling

the floor shakes

down here
where i sit at the kitchen table


what passes for my soul

at you.

//twenty-five year olds walk by//

it's all pivot



rivers forming
before your

no doubt
the puppeteer
is bringing
A game shit here

they say
this is the apex
of sexuality

but their wombs
are still
sealed in wax

their hearts
have only taken
a couple turns
on the lathe

you can
start off in cincinnati
amidst begonias

and end up
in dien bien phu
slicing turnips

my eyes merge
with the
forty-five year olds

a little lower


but the electricity
is still


refined oxbows
in the alchemy
of the heart.

//nothing she does is accidental//

not the way
she clears her throat
while passing you
the broccoli

the seemingly
innocuous question
about garlic

or the figure eight pattern
she's rubbing
into the handle of a butter knife
with her thumb

it's all

her whole carapace
and undergird
is balanced
on the

right now
she would send her shadow
across the table
to bitch-slap you
while smiling in your face
if she could

go ahead
tune this out

pretend she's a fish tank
bubble and hum
off in the periphery

she's telling you something

and forever

there's a-lot
you aught
to know.

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