Three Poems


Robyn Art

[Theories of Colony Collapse Disorder]

1.Because the river is full of holes. 2. Because his hands. 3. Because those were
the pearls that were his eyes. 4. Larceny. 5. Infamy. ^. The churlish disquietude
of the Tastee-Freeze truck. 7. Because of spinning it old school. 8. The same wack
shit. 9. Because lengthening shadows, doing their crepuscular dance. 10. Because
“crepuscular.” 11. High school (bad hair, misery.) 12. The very idea of him. 13.
Recurring dream #1: the house by the water (lake? ocean?) 14. Because the death
of analog. 15. Because the death of the push-mower. 16. Because death 17. in a kinda
general, all-around way. 18. Three weeks late. 19. Rescinded handshake. 20. Fantasy
baseball. 21. Collision of cosmic spheres, a dissonant humming. 22. Blood in the
drain. 23. Recurring dream #2: the Forbidden Room (blood-red drapes, a la The Shining?)
24. Because the day job 25. can’t swing the high overhead. 26. Sleeplessness. 27.
Her bituminous eyes. 28. Because Father Time, one seriously-underhanded motherfucker.
29. Broken strap. 30. Severed toe buried in sand. 31. Because he wanted to. 32.
Because he wanted. 33. Because he. 34. Flooded engine. 35. Invention of cheese-in-a-can.
36. Because genial affection, furious loathing 37. and tenderness. 38. Exhibit A:
syringe, rubber hose, earmarked copy of “Explore St. Louis!” 39. The way you heard
it. 40. Because the tongues of a thousand bedraggled and timorous mortals. 41. Because
rain. 42. Winter: a single thread, unraveling. 43. Better get. 44. Better get yo’
hustle on.
 
 
 
 
Spring Comes to Las Vegas: Ten Haikus
 
On the closet floor
of her bedroom, the lost shoe
realigned with its mate
 
Overheard in the paper goods aisle: Have you ever
wanted to just,
I dunno, break stuff
 
Like the equinox, it was two
things at once: caffeine-jag-wired
and dead-in-the water fatigue
 
This breeze: shot through
with longing, the forbidden desires
of the fat
 
Beyond the tippled hedge,
tampering with the sprinkler,
the band of punk-ass kids
 
Smell of her girl at night:
flowers
in a wet yard
 
Have you ever
made up a list just
to cross things off
 
A taped voice coming through
on the machine, Look, I hate
to say this but I
 
Evening, the neighbor’s cat
on the garden wall—I’m lucky
if he stays around awhile
 
 
 
 
QUESTIONS FOR THE PORTABLE HUMAN
 
Do the faces of trains speak to you?
Are you blighted with complex organelles?
Have you ever warbled inchoately?
How do you feel on this therapeutic dose?
What were your duties on the aircraft?
Would you be willing to relocate?
Are you oft festooned in itinerant shadow?
What is your favorite use for string?
How soon could you start the assembly?
Have you ever used “journal” as a verb?
Was that you off-sides by the air shaft?
If you had to, could you find your way back?
How far is the sea from your current abode?
Have you ever been dead before?
What is your favorite childhood trauma?