by Geoff Garwick
I. The Abs.
A breath—that’s short—bikini brief short.
Chest rises. Chest Falls. Then our scene ends.
It’s curtains for you. A meteor is slower
When compared to a star’s orbit,
Than human life’s flickering trends.
Air twisting gymnast soars wingless,
Dwarfed by the towering high bar.
Floating weightless in the giant’s
Apogee for shards of a second,
Where the flyer lives lighter than a star.
Leaves float for hours, days, years,
Compared to the human pause atop.
Brains and muscles flip us higher,
Brave, amazing aerial displays
But in wink’s time, we--still—must drop.
II. The Skin and Drippy Nose.
In my chameleon-weathered homeland
We are amazingly well-seasoned:
Oregano, ginger, chipotle and cumin
Have nothing on us at all.
But merely calling the plunge “autumn”
Won’t dull the pain when we hit bottom.
III. The Scapulae and Wishbone.
Watch that well-greased first step,
You who, soon a little lower than angels
Formerly looking up to you,
Now clutch wings requiring glue.
You’ll miss the feathers most,
No longer a morning person,
Meteoring for uprushing
Ground, where, unfledged, you’ll be crushing
De-aeried favorite son,
Epaulets and pinions gone,
Blaze snuffed by exile’s pall
For long, lonely years you’ll fall.
Heaven’s best becomes its dreck
When the plucked throne hits the deck,
Now mortals must clean up the wreck
Of dull wings driven through your neck.
IV. The Rib and Teeth
PLUNGE FROM GRACE.
LOST OUR PLACE:
SWORD IN FACE.
The Eve of nude.
Sweat dropping, crude.
Birth pangs turn rude.
V. The Pelvis and the Femur
How many light bulbs does it take
To help a crucial bone to break?
I hear it requires only one
If a ladder guarantees the fun.
If you’re not yet drooled or mumbling
Begin the collapse by stumbling.
In a fall from gravity’s grace,
Smash at least one joint, then replace.
The down escalator’s rumbling
As you slouch toward further crumbling.
When legs slither after bones are burst
The crowd assumes your mental worst.
Abcess-minded bits of bumbling
Unleash mosquito stings of humbling,
In the mornings the geezer crawls
Until its damned London Bridge falls.
VI. The Midbrain and the Heart
Yearning and yearning, quasar-lashed,
Paired stars gyre about a new
Fulcrumed, formerly empty, point.
A jet of fusing synergy
Sweeps from the rotating partners.
Their center does not fold--
Not origami; tempered edge.
What chimera'ed beast measures self
By dear circumnavigations
Of the incoiled, twined other?
WE, screaming “now”, dive into love,
Seals lost, beaks gaped, talons flared,
Tearing hungrily into our
Own deepest viscera to feed
Ravening chicks of hopeful melds.
Sloughing off lost Jerusalems,
The universe drops pulled-out strings,
Which dared to exist outside of we --
Extruding what’s not Gemini,
The sad fey shadows beyond us.
VII. The Wrist and Phalanges
Dice play at
Through infinite games.
© Copyright Geoffrey Byron Garwick. All Rights Reserved.