Definition

One must make a distinction however: when dragged into prominence by half poets, the result is not poetry, nor till the autocrats among us can be “literalists of the imagination”—above insolence and triviality and can present for inspection, imaginary gardens with real toads in them, shall we have it.

Thursday, August 8, 2013

In Tandem! Mexican Radio meets runaway sentence: Bonding with Muriel

(Corey and Marian went down to Boo'ya Moon and brought back this story to tell to our friends. Hope you enjoy.)
 
Bonding with Muriel


          When exactly did you lose your Soul?

Chewing the burnt end of Cherub Root waters her eyes
Sitting cross legged, knee to knee, she spoke of her legacy
You touch her breast pocket and your fingers find no purchase
She exhales and lets out a low laugh, a smile through yellowed teeth
She told you your hair was ablaze with Asher’s fire, but you knew
The Gods wouldn’t burn your memories without reason
The root plays its restless song and for the moment, you understand Muriel

Lucky for you, the gods do not approve human sacrifice
You sprawl in a bed strewn with paper dolls and daisy chains
Dreaming of salt water, wishing for that crosswalk moment
Like navigating a quicksand Moat, slow progress across
Sinking until your lungs begin to collapse and you encounter him
The glitter of his purpose an aura, redolent like a bachelor’s aftershave
An elixir, eternal youth promised, or joy, if only you can last this bog


          Why exactly did you paint your Heart?

When you ask him of her intentions he shrugs and leaves your head hollow
She picks all moments, not just the ones you ask for
And you must hope to all hell that her womb doesn’t quicken
For progeny born of a union consecrated on the root becomes his child
Beautiful in scope but hideous where justice and compassion are concerned
Have you learned nothing from your childhood tales of beasts and banalities
She is Muriel and you are a faded memory before her horse rides south

It’s hard to know what will work if we are to learn to cross this bridge
Sitting Indian-style, your earth-earring warms your celestial lobe
And you imagine all the days you have ahead together, a Kodak moment
Slide-show to come, but first, the span. You have no fucking idea
You squeeze your eyes until the red behind your lids glows fire-wise
Like the gash on your breast, the one you keep pasted with gauze, never looking
Avoiding the service, it’s better to remember his mouth on your heart


          When exactly do you expect to Return?

Mourning never ends as yesterday fades into a year later, and then masked
As night it’s the moment you always anticipated, but wait, where’s your hovercraft
And how are you supposed to acclimate when you recall what it’s like to tumble
Through the apex of a reflective Triangle on the bumper of a horse-drawn buggy
Sugarcubes wait in a saucer for your coffee as you bum a smoke from that farmer
Beard but no moustache, tall hat but bare hands chapped from shoveling
Your memories into the incinerator and man, you gotta locate an analyst pronto

“Muriel?”
“Yes, my light?”
“Is that scar on your cheek from me?”
“No, my light.”
“Can I touch it?”
“Leave it be, it exists only as a reminder of your birth.”
“Why my birth?”
“It’s not my scar, it’s a bastard. You, my light, are a bastard.”
“Yeah.”

The soil of an inherited future is hard to scrape from the sole of one’s shoe
But Muriel had a stick and could wash free any sediment with a glance and a sigh
He would try and stop her, shouting that Gods don’t pour watered down drinks
On Monday, she would kill him with his own words and take you as a prize
It was your dream but it always caught in the back of your throat with a click
Forever was as much sin as savior in those days, days with Muriel

Always with your protestations, Muriel this and Muriel that
                                                 A pipedream, all it ever was

Felix Vallotton, The Dordogne with Carrenac, 1925

20 comments:

Kay L. Davies said...

Very late at night. My husband thought I'd disappeared. Nope, just took a look at this and will be back to read it in the morning because I can hardly wait but I'm falling asleep in my chair.
K

Susan said...

Gosh boom! When did I start hallucinating? Wow! Click click. Sediment on a shoe to shake off and not dilute ... we bonded, but was it in a dream or a memory twice removed?

Phil said...

Where did you find that picture Mama Zen? it's really cool, so is the story.

LaTonya Baldwin said...

Chock full of imagery and symbolism. Won't pretend I always got it, but I felt it. The poem sucked me and made me chew slowly. I look forward to reading again and again and enjoying it's meaning unfold.

Mama Zen said...

There are so many great lines in this! Very cool work, guys.

Hannah said...

Ooo...you guys!!! This felt sepia toned and smoky throughout the entire piece, a real mood that you two have created here. Feels richly of a movie scene or a chapter from an awesome novel.

Well done indeed!!

hedgewitch said...

Well, I have no idea what so many of the key references allude to;I assume from the tags perhaps Steven King references--but that makes no difference to the cohesion of the poem or the quality of the writing, both of which are superb. The imagery is so tangible and rich that one can almost inhale it--a wonderful collaboration, and a mysterious and compelling, haunted poem.

Marian said...

none of it has anything to do with Stephen King except for the reference to Boo'ya Moon, which is a dream-like place of mystery in his book Lisey's Story. the poem itself sprung from our imaginations once we went there :)

Helen said...

It's the 'getting there' that's the tricky part ... the two of you went there, and waaaaaaaaaay beyond! WOW

Sherry Blue Sky said...

WOW! What a tale steeped in mystique and grit. I read it in wonderment, delight and admiration. Fantastic collaboration!!!!!

Kerry O'Connor said...

This is a rich find, a seam of gold, the kind you want to keep to yourself, or share only as a priceless adornment on the breast. The narrative has the power of legend and is packed with arcane enchantments. It had me on the edge of my seat, and the smidgen of dialogue was a brilliant touch at just the right moment.

grapeling said...

Trickster paid you two a visit and swirled a bit of mischief in your beverages - you can tell by the slick on the surface, like in a cup of black coffee.

Herotomost said...

Thanks for writing with me Marian!!!! I know it can be a bit confounding! SOWISA Babyluv!!! Thanks everyone, I know its a little out there but it was fun as hell to write!

Kay L. Davies said...

Who picked these two to collaborate? Kerry, did you? A stroke of genius! This line alone is great: "The soil of an inherited future is hard to scrape from the sole of one’s shoe" and the poem in its entirety is nothing short of amazing.
K

Grace said...

Wow to the collaboration ~ Prose poetry Marian - Corey style ~

Great work you two ~

Marian said...

SOWISA right back, Babyluv :)

Susie Clevenger said...

Great union of two writers. I love the way out feel of it. Can I drink where you guys do to fill your cups of imagination? My hats off to both of you!!

Margaret said...

I've read this twice and then scanned it. It it definitely surreal and has many intriguing lines. Don't pretend to fully understand, but I am not sure it is really meant to be comprehended as much as just... absorbed. I'd love to know how this was written - what the game plan was - did you both write every other line or what... ?

Ella said...

I agree you two wove a legend of life and the burnt edges of dismounted fall. It had a dream like quality, too! Wow...do tell how did you two pull this one out of the Boo 'ya moon! Wonderful to read your two minds meld! YOU two are related I just know it ;D

Marian said...

What happens in Boo'ya Moon stays in Boo'ya Moon...