'Edith, Newtown' (Pennsylvania) 1974 Gelatin silver print © by Emmet Gowin, courtesy Pace/MacGill Gallery, New York |
focus came from fade away noise
I was in the District of Columbia
I remember going to the
public library basement
no air conditioning but
it was cool enough for me...
there was this small tv on sound off
in the corner janitorial supply closet
it was next to where
a makeshift receptionist desk
had been arranged...everyone is
out playing in the hydrant sprays on
account of it being so hot...
what brings you down here...I didn't
answer at first looking at her
mid sixties get up complete
with librarian chain around her neck
attached to her glasses in
which she looked up over the top of
at me as I stared back while wondering
why on the tv there were ministers at the Orioles
baseball game on this oppressively hot July day
they/we/wore/sore/core black robes
like jurists of old and both
their wigs slipped off slid sled chute
coal powder wigs matted
hair poultry oil poetry boils
from wear and before I knew
what was happening I was one
of those kids in the tv
looking at these ministers
like they were billy dee williams
and james brown from a movie
I remember seeing when I was young
Black Caesar or something like that...
I could have swore I kept hearing people talk
they would keep talking over the movie
soon enough I began to-waver-real-eye-size
for a moment, I have been outside
this whole time dying
of heat stroke when people found me
in and out of consciousness
trying to find shady Hades
under a bench...
I was baseball card-ish-imp
on a bicycle tire spoke-n limb
broken spooked by proximity
to ways shadows and lights
are strewn about fleet daggers
scabbards fleeing, fast food wrappers
and empty beer cans
trailing all around me
as if I was part
of some re-entry
remnant artistry
quick sand to mouth gluttony
after a score...
and I could've swore
I heard someone
from the movie
breaking the fourth wall
and talking back to me
saying things like...
"...this poor man asleep
failed to catch his dream
'cause all he does now
is rest with his fates,
who're likely reading
his tea leaves bleeding
hoping he's not late
for dinner and sate
as he heard the call
go light the lanterns
/p\/a\/u\/s\/e\
/l\/o\/o\/k\
/a\/t\
/a\/u\/d\/i\/e\/n\/c\/e\
with what wicked to love can sing..."
I hear glad handed baggie
lunch paper brown discovery
crinkle sounds reach waxy wane
explaining to the audience
with allegory and symbols
just how being stuck
inside the picket spice
soul will get in
trouble sometimes...
the sirens whine claw
it smells of bandages
they're wrapping me
in this cool blanket
rhythm and ride for life they say
living to hide the leather parts of your smile
will invite death much more quickly...
because whether finality
or wound to heal
some days the lesson
is cast iron
scrubbed with sea salt
while on other days
it's just the way
the Sun drips
off the lashes
of a girl
inside your mind
climbing out
from the woods
and looking
for you again...
EJR ©
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