EIGHT POEMS by TOM SNARSKY

Frustrated Observer

 

The thin trail of slime
that observation leaves
is a pillar of our several
ways of communicating
with one another, & then
the distance is only
a small part of its life,
an etching by a silver-
smith whose entire
family is dead but who
smokes only Newports
in your dad’s garage,
which he knows his
way around like a fine gob-
let or a cheap sword you
would never have known
was made of real silver.

 

 

Experimental Spotlight

 

I’m holding this basket way out

Over the river and it’s got

Precious goods that may be alive

So if I drop the basket that I am

Holding way out over the river

I will be forced to tell

A story to the lover

On the other bank

 

 

In the Foreheads of Dreams

 

Plains of eternal beings
& metaphors of light

It is difficult to understand
Skin & the time it takes

To collaborate with flowers
I slackened my body until

The whole expanse pudged
Into doves

The explanation

Drove him home & didn’t
Kiss him goodnight
This poem should end

With “day” & so I’ll make it:

I love you

Happy birthday

 

 

Seagreen Satanism*

 

All of it was a strategy for displacement, nothing
More. Embarrassment was far (but not too far)
From its mind; I have a witness in the wings & he
Can be brought to bear on almost anything, for a
Price. We have entered deceivership and the re-
Sults are every bit as ugly as Father’s Day. Don’t
Worry, I’ve been told medicinal herbs this size
Are normal, at least at this age. When his tem-

Per has calmed check with me again and I’ll let
You know about anything I have that might help.
Passionate chance might have to take it from
Here: I am worried that the laundromat will act
As a third pair of wings, but this groundless fear
Emerged only yesterday from the heat of a dream
I had about John Ashbery. There’s no sense in
Arguing about it now—at least, not until sunrise.

*title taken from René Crevel

 

 

The Archives of Truth Written in Letters of Blood

 

This is not an epistolary dream—
Maybe you’ll like the negations better

You & I are far from actuality
& the tightrope we usually walk

Together
I have never lied to you but I have

Certainly made mistakes
I never told you about

Like for example when I said Truth is
Like hearing a voice you cannot read

 

 

Or Houses

 

Ninety a sun color, decimated
quick. Embarrassing thought with
a sneeze wrested from time

before the surgeon came
and the flutter in my heart man-
aged to evaporate. We

are summoning discipline
to its sticking point, and nature
cannot horribly build any more

horrible things. I scampered down
a forbidden path I think
but not in a cool way or anything.

 

 

how to get sick

 

i put this
in a poem
so that if
it shows up
in my auto-
suggest his-
tory it will
not seem
suspicious

 

 

Good Poem

 

stay